


always have and never hold

by bleedingrainbows, e3echo



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Angst, Blood, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Dark Character, Fluff, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Late Teenagers, M/M, Manipulation, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up, Post-Chimera Ant Arc, Post-Dark Continent Arc, Post-Succession Contest Arc, Recreational Drug Use, Reunions, Revenge, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Violence, Years Later, and in different levels all of them will be worked on, basically be ready for everything, general fucked-up-ness, the nature of each relationship is DRASTICALLY different from the others, this is why the tags may seem contradictory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-03-25 15:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13837218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedingrainbows/pseuds/bleedingrainbows, https://archiveofourown.org/users/e3echo/pseuds/e3echo
Summary: When the ship headed to the Dark Continent returned, many things had changed.Hopes grow and hopes shrivel. Foes and allies whisper all the same.Broken heart. Wicked puppetry. Zoldyck’s death.For whoever was left to deal with the remains, three things settled clear.First: some wrongs can never be fixed, although they often hold a purpose.Second: old feelings can burn again, but they will inevitably turn.Third: if you lose someone, be careful not to lose yourself.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Well! Hello there.
> 
> Even though we read it countless times, some things may escape. We will edit chapters whenever we realize something like that, so bear with us please! cccc:  
>   
> Suggestions and critiques are more than welcome, we’d love your help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are rushed, as they always are in first chapters. Hopefully, it gets better.
> 
> The main-pairing is Killugon, so we start with it. Other pairings and their development will appear along the narrative.
> 
> Please enjoy!

 

 

 

Pale hands fidgeted inside pockets, an old habit he thought to be lost. In those four years abroad with his sister, he’d turned into a much protective person, but he supposed that’s where his personality was headed all along. Alluka was so full of joy and will to know and comprehend new things he felt like every day she was closer and closer to understanding the world; finding herself by simple consequence.

Killua, on the other hand, faced only a familiar rush once the adrenaline of being free kicked in. The detachment that came with it was something he took pride in being good at. Unfortunately, it had cost him the remains of his first and best friend, a price too high to pay.

Alluka told him to keep in touch.

He tried.

It’s just that time really does its thing and, gradually, people drift apart. There were many excuses he gave himself for that.

It’s simple and natural. The course of things.

Maybe, it was also the course of things that he’d come after _him_.

Built courage, long hands, Killua wasn’t ready. Recognizing his fault was easy, when he was alone and meeting up was just an idea. He knew he’d have to return, and although the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal, well, they kind of were.

The path home was as easy as to get on a ship to Whale Island. Impressive, how familiar it felt returning to a place you only went once.

Knocking on wooden door, he waited.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ever since Gon first left that house, that island, four years ago or so, the very remembrance was by itself full of contradictory meanings. Is it a home, if you can’t bear to stay? Is it not, when it ends up being the one thought to go back to? Not rarely it felt like he belonged in the threshold, about to leave, about to come back.

There was nothing in that place particularly that would repel him, or by definition make someone crave to flee. Quite the opposite. The affection, the family, the food, his bed, his belongings, the jungle, the earth. Yet he’s grown thirsty, needing more to his ears than the tweeting and peeping of birds by his window. He needed his very heartbeats to deafen him, to listen to his own thoughts screaming _do or die._

Furthermore, there was never the need of a household to tell him he wasn’t alone. Not when he had the improbably constant with clear blue eyes gazing back. But people come, and people go. And while tech is remarkable for lots of things, it surely can’t compensate that one single untranslatable stare, that glimpse of each other’s eyes when one is in the ring and the other amid the cheering crowd.

It just withered slowly.

Lonesomeness doesn’t pay off if there isn’t a goal which you exchanged company for, and Gon was also starting to realize he was running out of excuses to look for some trouble and raise some hell.

Was it adulthood hovering close?

Surely felt like it, when he was taking care of the house or when he was able to cook his own meal. Some weeks of that and he’s out of place again, feeling despicably safe.

But it doesn’t matter in the end, not enough to get sulky about. There should be something else to fight for. He knew he could find his way back. There was no reason to wear a permanent frown.

Still, however inadmissible, just keeping on cheerful like his old self used to do became a bit harder as time passed.

He’d settle for a smile, then. A smile no matter what happened, and even if he didn't at first, Gon would eventually believe the forced joy, finally starting over.

When he heard a knock on the door, he was so lost in these thoughts it crossed his mind that maybe he was hallucinating. Not that he was thinking exactly about Killua, but no memory on that life of his wasn’t at least sprinkled with his friend’s presence; and that slender figure with snowy skin framing cerulean eyes, it isn’t like there are two of it in the world.

The just as white hair was a little bit longer, and he was a tad taller, but the difference between their heights still wasn’t that considerable.

His pulse raced.

It was really him, after all.

“Killua!” Gon opened up a smile - a cheery, _that_ cheery smile. “What are you- you’re _back_?”

It didn’t matter whether it was three in the afternoon or past midnight, Gon was as bright as Killua remembered, bigger than before and blocking the entrance with his ridiculous spiky hair and huge smile.

 Worries had built up for so long he found himself sighing in relief, noticing this for him, too, hit home. No pictures he could ever send or calls they might have wasted would give him the feeling of having his closest, favorite person staring back. A grin creeped from inside thin bones, without any respect for whatever was going on his mind, and Killua shrugged.

“I guess. Long time no see, assface.”

_Yeah._

Too long.

It came as automatic recognition for both, like muscle memory. Gon stepped forward slightly only, feeling like he could hug Killua, but held his own self in the doorway. Neither reaction could be explained: he could have had the first because Killua brought back a clueless child with low or no inhibitions, who missed him and missed who he himself was beside him; and the latter could be a reason to remember that a single wrong move misinterpreted by a living weapon like his old friend already was years ago could cost him his life.

How absurd to even think such thing of Killua; to make him a result of cold, alien reasoning.

It was really weird, such that the whole set of movements may have looked like a spasm. Too much excitement to wonder further or to even be embarrassed about it.

“Do you wanna get in? Or go for a walk? Oh, you must have one thousand stories to tell.”

Yes, Killua’s grin unfolded into a soft smirk, clear eyes wide and an urge to laugh wider, because as Gon spoke he stumbled on himself.

Oddly reassuring.

With Alluka, the tames holding his reactions hadn’t freed entirely, getting stiffer over time instead. He’d only let go whenever they got alone: to the rest of the world, it was like he was as cold as ever. Killua too wasn’t sure what would be pushing it, what would be safe. There was no north to his internal compass besides the wave of memories that clashed over him.

“Yeah.” He then realized his answer wasn’t an answer at all, so he picked the easiest lie. “Uh. I guess I could use a cup of water?”

“Sure!” A step aside and Gon left the way free for Killua to pass through before closing the door. “Have a seat, come on!”

The smile was stronger than anything else, for sure, but it was like fickle light. Gon takes all the energy it takes for holding grudges and puts it into what it takes to keep a random stubbornness about something. So, no, he wasn’t mad or bitter at Killua for not answering his texts or not sending emails. Gon understood. If anything, he was sad for the widening gap, because right now, it could be as if Killua was walking in that particular deceptive frequency. One second he was his old friend back again, one second he was a perfect stranger. But it was him, so there it was, his friend in there.

He would make do with that.

Gon picked a jar of water inside the fridge and a glass in the cabinet, very quickly, and left both on the kitchen table.

“So.” The boy swiveled a chair in one foot and straddled it. His chest rested on backrest, and there as well he crossed his arms. “When did you come back? What a coincidence you find me here, I’m not always in the island– Uh. Unless it isn’t.”

Pouring the liquid, silent _thank you_ a blanket over eyes as he took place opposed to him at the table, Killua drank in one large gulp to satisfy the façade.

“I wouldn’t be so lucky.” The boy scoffed, voice light. He knew Gon had been traveling to, well, wherever it was. Oh, he was _so aware_ of that. He’d been hopeless, scenarios of sudden encounters filling his head like intruding thoughts until he had the guts to grow past it. Took him years. Thin finger drew shapes in water droplets over the table. “Something happened, I- we came back and then I heard you were here. I couldn’t come home and not see you.”

Hope sure is one hell of a viper.

“I’m glad you did.” Gon said immediately after, reassuring. Then, something in the boy’s countenance seemed to have given him away; could he still plainly trust his guts about interpreting Killua? He softened the very eagerness in his expression and tried to empathize with his old friend’s mood. There was a shadow, a dark cloud covering the sky of his eyes, and Gon wasn’t sure if it was in the second he knew him, in the second he didn’t or the one in between. “But... maybe glad it isn’t the mood for now, huh? Whatever happened must be truly serious to bring you all the way back.”

The other nodded, stopping his hands by resting them over lap.

“Yeah. It’s a weird story.” Tension rose up his chest again. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. But again, this was still his best friend, and his head was a mess and the mansion was a mess and Killua just wanted to figure something besides the rage and the empty feeling he was left with.

Those had little to do with Gon.

Insecurity was of them, maybe, what hurt the most. Second to that would be how he felt fucking  _nostalgic_ , there was no point hiding. Very human of him, wasn’t it? And what a trainwreck, deciding to talk about things when he was utterly dumbstruck. Killua could only hope Gon still worried like before.

The host was a steady, tangible presence around him, as were the earth and the trees; while everything else seemed to turn fragile and slippery, much like the water at his fingertips.

He couldn’t just ask about his nen, that clearly returned. It would trigger a conversation about how it left in first place and didn’t drag his life with him. Killua wasn’t ready for that. For any of it.

Reasonable temper, body language in check, yet it was no surprise Gon read him like they hadn’t changed at all.

He took a deep breath.

“Well. Let's see. Mother is... dead. And Illumi kinda requested us to come home. Even my father is trying hard not to throw a tantrum. I left them to deal with the ceremonial details, left Alluka in one of our penthouses; and I believe they won’t try anything with Nanika _now_. Zeno warned them it would be no use, since mother was already gone. And I- kind of needed to get out, so.”

Yes, it was hard to be born into a family like his. Twisted, filled with hatred, it was also impossibly filled with love.

It could be said he’d been chiseled by abuse into what he was today, and he agreed. So had been Illumi, and Kalluto; even Milluki, the spoiled one. The only one not to share fully that daily hell was Alluka, and look at what that gave her.

Weird to admit he loved Kikyo when he still held onto his disgust for when she was alive.

“I’m sorry, Killua. About everything.”

Gon sat there, honestly wondering for a moment how far it could reach. Was it about death, or the very fact he couldn’t just ignore it? Was Killua mourning, or repelling? He looked down and tried to choose the right words, not a very common exercise for him.

Silence seemed to stretch for miles within the time of a sigh.

“Uh... be sure that you can stay here for as long as you need. Or would like. And if you need a hand with... whatever, I’m up for it. I’m back again, you know?”

 _Bingo_. There it was, body covered lightly, ghostly, white and glistening. Killua’s lips were a line while Gon gave a small, reassuring smile nothing of glad or excited anymore, but just as determined. After all, it was clear to him fighting side by side had to be the cornerstone of their friendship.

Who knew? It just happened so naturally and so fast it was like the course of a river. Having to think about it felt even wrong.

Damn, what he wouldn’t do to go punch someone beside Killua right now, just for the sake of it, to loosen the lump on his throat. 

As for the Zoldyck heir himself, he had forgotten how it felt to have thoughts answered as if one said them aloud.

“Alright.”

A heartbeat, and tension rose to tie a knot. It was there, yes, although Gon wasn’t on the same level of when he lost it. Sweetest of ironies that _they_  weren’t on the same level either.

The smirks to cross Killua's face would always be bitter at the edges. Too soon to talk about Kikyo. Too soon to talk about themselves. What was he doing there, so unprepared? He never enjoyed being seen vulnerable, so before that happened – before he risked that all came out of him not in form of blabber but in streams he didn’t know when or if would stop – he got up, bending one arm behind his head and pulling elbow down. There’s time and place for everything, Zeno repeated that over and over.

“Gon. What if we updated our speed score? Like old times... If you’re not afraid of being left behind.”

“Has fear of losing ever stopped me before?” A sweet smile widened in Gon’s face before he could help it, or notice how selfish it was that he wanted to enjoy Killua’s company and forget about the world around them. Even though the feeling was probably the same the other way around, while getting up he wondered if it was all some comfortable middle ground, once he could never be what Killua needed right now, not even within what’s realistically expectable.

Unfair, that the boy had been beside him in all his battles and now all he could count on were the reminiscences, barely whole, shining shyly by the corner of their eyes. A reminder that, little by little, they had given up on trying.

“You, on the other hand, might get so offended if you don’t win that I might as well just let you.” He already walked fast to the front door and opened it, in his eyes glimmering a mild excitement.

It wasn’t like he would mourn the past, when the present is there to be seized and built. The ever so joyful mood was pouring out him wanting it or not, and Gon hopped a couple of steps to outside, boots heavy on earth. Wind was never shy in such heights; in that half end of afternoon the sunshine rested mild in temperature but still not in brightness, boisterously turning grass into emeralds and the sea into sapphires.

“To the beach? Still remember the shortcut, Killua? You can always follow me.” A half grin, a foot of his leaning a step behind and he wouldn’t need to say the word for them to know where and when the sprinting starts.

They knew it, like indeed muscle memory, and one glance could tell all that was needed.

Killua gave him a flashed, lopsided smile.

If only everything was as simple.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

One step forward and he was there, beside him. Next one, they were under trees. Large branches eased path, moist and rich. Between shadows was Gon, always so confident he’d win and ready for the frisson of the fight, not truly caring the least if in the end he lost to Killua.

Unfortunately for him, his specialty was still speed.

Racing pace, just a bit, Killua stormed at seashore; and of course he didn’t forget, how could he? The coast was beautiful as ever, sand glistening gold and brown, occasional sea glass specking hints of green and red along beige. 

Lean legs crouched, and he picked a particular pretty nutmeg shell, round shapes against his skin. He had three other pieces in his hands by the time it felt appropriate to speak again.

“Bisky will kill you when she hears about this. I’m more offended you didn’t even put up an effort, did you miss watching my back that much?”

Losing to him in a competition really didn't bother Gon the least; mainly where he knew he couldn't have the chance of beating him. Moreover, he was aware that the range of possibilities where that wasn't true was narrower and narrower with time. While he, Gon, struggled to just get back, Killua was out there enhancing his already outstanding skills. Just formidable. In regular steps, he walked closer.

"Last time we did this you couldn't escape my eyes. Remarkable... I have to admit, I'd feel better if your back actually needed watching some time."  Chuckling, he scratched his nape and stood right in front of Killua, at a hand's reach. Stare stilled for a moment. The smile he gave then was one more glance through the transparency of his self; easy to see the admiration and pride he felt, the joy in sharing that very moment in space and time, and even the tiny hint of envy that could barely be called so. It was an intricate hue of emotion more alike a true beautiful will of sharing this level of talent tainted with the resentment for not being part of what build his friend like that in the last years. With one more chuckle, then, he turned to the sea and crouched to pick some rocks. "But you've got me cornered here when it comes to showing off skills, lightning rod. While you can race this entire island, it's still not polite to punch guests."

As if.

He threw the flat rock towards the ocean, low, in angle. It skipped several times on the surface of the water straight to the horizon before finding a wave on its way and sinking.

A small voice on the back of his head approved. It wasn't like he couldn't toss it farther. It wasn't like he had anything to prove him.

Killua grew to remain sharp in all angles, from tongue and long limbs and the tips of his never adjusted hair to the white corners of his eyelids, light lashes always pointing up. Hisoka was right about his nen type, he remained the same fickle, liar he ever was.

Gon, on the other hand, was still smooth edges and warm tones.

Firm.

Honest.

In kids that’s an endearing trait, and  Killua remembered getting embarrassed many times by the bluntness of his friend, another thing to be missed. Not many people wore their heart open.

He felt defeated, despite getting there first.

"You wished, sucker. Lightning rod? That’s the best you got after this long?”

Gon’s laugh echoed easily, as if the scorn was directed to someone else entirely he actually wished to mock as well. The acidity of words and tone sweeter than honey on the tip of his tongue, even though a little bit sourer than he remembered it to be. That very salty air smelled like nostalgia and anachronism, and he glanced at Killua by his side before throwing another rock, like he could vanish if unseen for long.

"What, was I supposed to be training cleverer and meaner nicknames to give you? I had been kind of busy, you know, speedy?" Purposefully, he just searched for anything even sillier to call him and giggled at the ridiculous result. He crouched again, but instead of grabbing another rock, his fingers seized a seashell to wipe the sand covering it. "Not that I am very busy any longer, though, so I can call you when I find better ones." Kneeling, he looked up and beamed outrageously even in the softest of smiling expressions. "Or tell you in person. It's up to you."

Just as if he meant nothing too complicated at all, Gon looked down once more and spotted another seashell, a deep blue one, muttering as if to himself how beautiful it was, completely mindlessly. By then, Killua had already made a pile of them, planning on giving his sister as many as he could collect. He kept staring, pastel colors losing brightness as sun started to lower. Words were placed in such a soft manner their disheveling content took a minute to sink. How amazing would it be for them to be together again. Share things, daily, sailing to the most improbable quests. Truth be told, he went there half-expecting Gon would say that.

Actually, _rooting_ would fit better.

Only Killua’s next stop wasn’t exactly exciting.  
Rather depressive.

He had much to fix, papers to sign and at least one murder to commit – just thinking about it made anger shift uncomfortably in his chest. He wasted a lot of time trying to run away from his family and their prerogatives just to meld into them when it felt fitting; but he was there when Gon killed Pitou, and he brought him back to life. Not that Gon should know about any of it, either, but there was no question, though, as to if the wide smiled, laid-back boy would stand by him if he decided hunting whoever had the guts to mess with his kin. Ever loyal, no scenario unfolded where he’d refuse.

  
Another issue entirely would be that the Zoldycks tended to dislike everyone around Killua, holding a caring spot of disapproval just for Gon. His mother hated him for being the reason he found strength to leave again, once and probably for all. Was it acceptable to drag the boy along to her funeral? Not really, no matter how he could use the support. 

Of course, yeah, they also always could meet after everything had passed... But being next to his best friend after so long, even when painful, was something he wasn't willing to let go just yet. And, most important, did he care about what was acceptable, as her son? The teenager didn't really think so.  
Sucking teeth, he pretended to ponder before answering, matter-of-factly as though stating the sun is bright.

“Gon, I fear the names only come to life when I can see your dumb face while you say them.”

Along with a satisfied chortle tanned boy threw his body and sat on the sand carelessly.

“Sound like a plan to me, sparks.” Grin trembled in his countenance, legs crossed, hands in his own ankles. “No? Snowflake?” A snicker of sorts followed his words, but he felt it wasn’t a moment yet to just plainly laugh. As it wasn’t the moment to tell they would just be back together as they were once.

Time.

That, and hope.

Ever so gently, he tugged the sleeve of Killua’s blouse once, to tell him to sit at once beside him already. He did, falling along with a soft, cristaline noise. 

Expectancy put weird conditions upon things. As much as there weren’t bounds when they were children, now they appeared everywhere. Killua had to avoid contact all that time, like the dumbass he was; and something in Gon’s figure now seemed plastered. It was like he had a very important tale to tell but instead bit his tongue, eeriness smeared all over his body.

If that was the case, then there were two of them.

Quite a view to take in, green and blue turning golden and purple, infinite. Soon stars would come out, and Killua concluded he would be caught dead before losing the chance to count them again. “Hey. Do you remember the last sunset we watched before leaving the island, that time?” He wasn’t looking at the horizon or at Gon, but at a small pink shell nestled on his palm. “I wasn’t planning on telling you Mito was there listening to us, and when I did you said you knew. Not by nen, but by feeling.”

The memory, when even that briefly narrated by Killua’s voice, grew clear in his mind. Endeared, Gon chuckled, tilting his body towards Killua for a moment.

“I do! But if I try to tell you what exactly was it that I noticed, I just... there was something else in the following silence that day.” Another laugh. There was, as well, something in the silence, like the unseen, unheard presence of whatever lies behind their walls. “It wouldn’t be too much a risky bet if I was only shooting in the dark. Aunt Mito was always concerned about how much of a loner I eventually was, and I couldn’t really understand her frown. We can’t miss something we never had, hm? And she thought, I knew, that my adventures would render me lonely once and for all. When I brought you along, I’d bet she would want to check what was it about that companionship. Were they friends, or partners only?” Looking at the skyline Gon smiled to himself, breathing in deeply, filling his lungs with the moist breeze that was wiping his face. “I never saw it, but I know she smiled.”

“She probably did.” Killua returned, before looking at the sea. “Yeah, and... Later that day you asked me to come with you, I said yes.” The boy was aware of the sand under him, the weight of his body against ground, the gravitational pull that maintained them attached to earth. Nothing explained exactly how heavy it felt to speak, but he blamed it on lateness.

Killua was tired of his own mind’s tricks.

He tried rationalizing things, but it wasn’t through techniques this would be figured out. Like Gon with Mito, it wasn’t about organizing information, but feeling and dealing with it. His friend said he’d go without a request, for the sake of his tiny hopes. It didn’t mind, though, because he had to make it clear, as he did before with some other things he couldn’t figure by himself; and he had to do it now, before they were too caught up in action to think.

“Gon, you know it’s been a while. I can’t promise good experiences will come from any invitation I manage to come up with, and you know me, I’ve thought this through many times. This won’t be easy, and I’m being actually _quite_ generous by saying I have never faced them in a worse mood.” A pause, another laugh, breathier, and he followed. “But you rescued me from them once and... So. I might need you there again.”

Silences between dialogues slowly built a wall before Killua’s eyes, hands tamed. He waited.

“There I will be. And to be fair, looking back, I guess we have a twisted idea of fun to begin with.” Gon shrugged, easy to laugh low now even with the content of the sentences he heard. Without looking, his fingers played pointlessly with a shell, drawing meaningless patterns in the sand. “I don’t think it’s ever really been fun that moved us, but purposes. You were trying to find a goal. I only got to accomplish some of mine because you were there with me. Now I don’t have one any longer, and you may need a hand. It’s not really that different in its core. We could never have predicted what we’d find down the way back in our time anyway, if joy or sorrow.” He looked at the light blue shell in his hand, cleaning it once again – was it an actual coincidence or a willful connection of randomness that it had hues he could find in his old friend’s eyes?  “As about time... You need me, I’ll be there, Killua. You could go away again and the next time we meet you’re married and with a son of our age, and even so, you can still count on that, without thinking twice.”

Simple and determined self drained down to his words; idealistic, pure, black and white, and, yet, nothing less than wholehearted. Killua had been staring at Gon since he talked about the duality of their destinies and the frailty of all. He couldn’t help the gaze, and it wasn’t strange how long it took to tear eyes off him, how he didn’t want to; because longer arms and broader chest were just details that now adorned his figure.

What caught his attention had always been the certainty of his manners.

His friend sounded so sure about everything, in a way Killua always pretended to do yet rarely ever did, and it was nothing short of inspirational. Although Gon wasn’t as brightly positive as he’d been one day and he knew they could only control their own variables – as to why and when they would, in the rush of things, make a decision –, it did feel simpler.

Of course, there would be implications.

“You’re still embarrassing-” Killua took a sharp breath, attention turned to glistening sand, uneasy expression on his face. Next words were rushed and low, like they could cease to exist if Killua spoke too loud. Not feeling this insecure since he retrieved Illumi’s needle, the boy stepped on quicksand. “- but I feel the same.”

"Great!" Gon nodded, sighing satisfied, the soft smile a constant that barely changed at all. He didn't mind any bad perspective, when it was a perspective, and a jolt of excitement ran through him when he realized what it meant indeed. Anything they could fight for together was worth it – and so was sharing the road and his time with him.

“You're staying the night and we leave by morning or we have to hit the road soon? Anyway, we should really stay for dinner, you don't wanna miss Mito's meatballs, they're still just as great." His voice, agitated as always but particularly gentle, playful even, cut through the crowded silence. "Hey, how's your sister doing? And how about the adventures of the two of you? Met anyone interesting? Or killed them?" He stopped himself with a chuckle, scratching his head, and sighing lied back on the sand. "Heh, sorry. It's just... so much I want to know if you feel like telling!"  Crossed arms behind his head, he gazed into the purple sky.

Killua bent his knees, embracing them and leaning forward.

“She’s fine! A little shaken given, you know, but overall she’s really fine. Alluka  changed a lot and to the better.” One young smirk, head tilted sideways and leaning over shoulder. “She was so overly excited when we reached Peijin, not having a clue what she wanted to go for first, I had to calm her down by saying we’d stay three months. We made friends everywhere– at least she did?” No matter how open Killua was to their traveling, he was an introverted and there wasn’t much he could do to change that. Even so, he found good friends here and there, who he didn’t exactly keep in touch with (because that was him) but of whom he carried fond memories. “Tough nut. The political state there is really unstable so we had to be careful... man, it was _so_ worth it. She was so happy, she even decided to boss me around! Can you believe that? To actually...”

 

Chatter drained minutes away. They stayed there as the sun hid behind horizon line, watching orange bleed into purple and turn deep blue. It was a dark and clean night, impressively bright stars and large moon bathing them in shades of gray. Events of the past and future brushed against each other as they spoke softly. Nostalgia, nervousness, anticipation.

Killua by then had laid down too, and he gave a sideways glare at the satisfied face that at some point turned to him.

“Oi, Gon, you promised me dinner. Shouldn’t we head back?”

“We should, yeah, I’m starting to get really hungry!” Gon lifted his body on his forearms and sat. Looking at Killua, he grinned mischievously the moment the gaze was corresponded. “In this case we should make it up by getting there really fast, don’t you think?”

In a second he turned, crouching, and sprinted; without warning, yes, he started running.  
Killua would win no matter how much leverage there could be between them - they would arrive exactly as Gon pictured, Killua waiting for him almost as if he had been there for ages. Laughing weakly they would bicker a little with the bit of silly nicknames during the remaining steps to the front door and ahead.

“Hey, Aunt Mito, guess what?” Gon said, suddenly, storming into the kitchen.

“Gon, where were you, I-...” Mito turned to him from the stove, with eyebrows already scrunched, but after a confused second she opened up a smile as she recognized his company. “Is it... Killua? Oh, it’s been such a long time! That cute little boy grew up into such a tall and handsome man!” Her tone was playful and endeared as she walked some steps closer.

“Didn’t he, aunt?” Gon stressed it with all innocence in the world. After all, he indeed agreed, and it sounded as something simple as stating the sunset was beautiful.

Standing there, Killua blinked twice before feeling a flush of pink at the tip of his ears.  
  
Being both that earnest and straightforward on a daily basis, he wondered how many times they’d say things like that out of the blue. Had they not a single clue?

“You should’ve told me, I would’ve made us a special dinner!” Hands on her waist, she pouted, furrowing her brows at Gon.

“Oh, I didn’t know either! And everything you cook is special, you know that very well.”

“Now you two-” Mito chuckled, but stopped herself as she looked at their clothes. “Gon, _what is this_ , you’re all dirty with sand! You’re cleaning this before dinner!" She made way for them to pass, showing the path with an open hand and looking exasperated. Gon smirked, Killua bit back a laugh. Sharp-eyed, she wasn't amused. "Look at my kitchen, you're ruining it. Oh my god. Go wash yourselves. Both.  _Now._ ”

“Of course, yes.” Killua lowered his head a bit in a silent hello, as sympathetic as he could. “It’s been so long, I’m sorry I came without letting you know first.”

“Aye! It’s alright, my god. You just go clean those paws, yes dear? Go.”

Barking out a chuckle, Killua acknowledged her request, heading upstairs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey, where can I drop this?” Pointing at his backpack, he stopped at the end of the stairway, waiting for Gon to turn around.

Taupe eyes stole a glance at him while walking to his bedroom.

"You can leave it near my bed if you wish, it's where you're sleeping!" He opened the door and entered, holding it for Killua to pass. Lights on, his mind drifted away a little as his eyes ran through his stuff there. The feeling of standing under the doorway again; wanting to just stuff his things into a backpack and run away as well as lingering for one moment more in a dinner table, sure of how comfy his bed would feel. Wondering about packing and telling Mito he was about to leave like that, all of a sudden (not that she doesn't expect it sooner or later), he opened his wardrobe and took his T-shirt off before realizing he shouldn't be the one to bathe first there. Not when there was a guest.

Not exactly like they're kids anymore to do it together again.

The thought kind of embarrassed him, even, and he felt as silly as it gets for that kind of comparison to have even crossed his mind.  

"Um, do you wanna take a shower first?" With the piece of clothing in his hand, he turned back again to Killua and shrugged, scratching behind his ear. "Dinner will take a little while to be ready, as we saw, so you can do it while I get an extra mattress for me and shake these clothes outside."

Killua was about to ask what was Gon blushing for, since they’d seen eachother shirtless many times through the years, when the answer came, so clear and round it seemed almost probable.

Gon _was_ embarassing and age didn’t do him any favors, seemed. It was the visitor’s turn to pretend not to notice.

“Okay...” Killua paused, dropping his backpack with a soft _plop_ over covers. “But I’mma sleep on the extra mattress, assface. I already took your bed last time, not gonna steal it again.”

He handled his clothes to Gon before grabbing a fresh change and a towel from his backpack, placing it around hips. The boy headed towards the bathroom, where he should find out the water was perfectly cold and refreshing, wetting hair and untangling the knots on his shoulders. In the midst of a hurricane, his mind finally allowed him an instant of plain calm, and he used it to think of anything but responsibilities.

Gon folded Killua’s clothes as rid of sand as possible and left it on his bed; as a randomness of his wandering imagination he wondered whether they’d fit him, like they would when they were twelve.

Killua was just an inch or so taller, and now it was what, three? Yet he was skinnier than him, Gon - but weren’t they slim almost the same? Maybe it was just an impression of his elegant figure, of the way he always moved, like he’s as swift as the wind and as slippery as shadows. He wouldn’t know.

The musings obviously went somewhere he didn’t mean them to be, pointless as they were, before he dropped them.

When Killua got back fully clothed, hair down, he was welcomed by an empty bedroom. A mattress had been placed on the floor, his belongings still over bed.

Well, he wouldn’t insist against a courtesy.

Gon was already downstairs when he reached the kitchen, and since food smelt really great and the table was already being set, his shower apparently would be taken after dinner.

 

While the boy helped his aunt out in the kitchen, the half sentences and gazes were already very eloquent. Mito mentioned she liked Killua very much, but that her heart would tell he wouldn’t leave that house alone. Gon was guiding his great-grandmother to the table when that was said, and no more than a silent nodding answered her. As he tried to enter the subject afterwards, she was the one who cut him out; it was a matter for later.

Then he appeared downstairs and Gon wondered if it had something to do with it, but, if so, Mito there would have to have an exceptional hearing to sense Killua’s ever silent approach. His friend looked a little lighter, and only then Gon realized how whelming it must be the burden in his shoulders to be able to make that body give it in even if for a tiny shadow.  

Things to only make him surer and surer he had to go to help Killua push it.

Cicadas made their own symphony outside, and dinner wasn’t but adorably ordinary - a good meal, purely factual subjects, and that’s it. Precisely the easy, boring, endearing thing Gon would need for that last day, and what he concluded Killua needed in his first.

For the other though, eating together reminded him what a family was supposed to be. Just like the first time, he caught his thoughts running towards a question that held absolutely no answer.

 _Will I ever have this?_  

It felt selfish to think of it given the circumstances, but to hell with that, he was selfish. Killua had taken his time convincing himself he shouldn’t be ashamed of wanting something better than what he was assigned to. How else was he supposed to teach Alluka that, if he didn’t live by his words?

He waited awake, staring at the ceiling after recollecting the aspects of his friend’s childhood room. It lacked the old furniture, everything much sober and covered in brown and beige, but those walls were just as embracing as he remembered. When Gon arrived, he watched silently as the boy settled; an emptiness that lived in the gray area between comfort and discomfort. They were still friends, yet not exactly the same. There was uncertainty as to what to do with that, but he knew expecting it to vanish within hours would be extreme naivety.

“Your aunt is amazing, her food is even better than I remembered.” He paused. “I got high standards now, so take that as a compliment.”

Turning on the mattress, Gon looked up at him on the bed, but Killua couldn’t be seen anyway.

“I can only agree. There’s really something special with whatever people do with heart.” He crossed one arm under his pillow. “Let me tell her that tomorrow, she’ll be happy to know. Mainly after your standards have risen this much. You surely have tasted lots of nice food out there!”

Giving in and pulling the covers with his free hand, the next step would certainly be yawning.

“Please do. No false modesty.” The other boy chuckled. “I should have but I was kinda busy shoving food into my stomach, you see?"

If he was to pick, though, Killua would rather have Gon telling her. He nuzzled at his pillow, cotton and cozy.

Their voices already sounded rasp.

“Wanna set the alarm on the phone for us or you turned out to be an early riser yourself? You’ve always sounded more like an owl to me instead of a rooster.” Even though they couldn’t see each other, the grin was audible through soft voice.

Every attempt of Gon’s was so obvious it could be annoying or adorable, but it didn’t have to be either, because it was just Gon. He never cared to balance or to disguise the curiosity itching about, well, pretty much everything, but there, itching about anything at all concerning his friend.

In bed, the other boy peeked from a border until Gon caught sight of him, like when they were kids: of course, that meant making a face. Laying on his back again, he could hear crystalline Gon’s slight shock, and tried not to laugh. That could wake their moods up, a bad thing for someone that tired.

“Alarm? Why should I bother?” Killua closed his eyes, lips curled up. “That’s your job.”

“You’ve got a point.” Gon shrugged and chuckled before closing his eyes as well and sighing. “‘Night, Killua!”

It wouldn’t take the host much to fall asleep, but in the little gap of time a cloud of thoughts took his mind over. Not as sky clouds, more as a cloud of bugs, buzzing loud all at the same time, all the same enormous and indistinct mass, all before flying away without notice.

It was mentally tiring just enough to make him yawn once more, and his limbs would be heavy enough in moments  – one breath from sliding into unconsciousness.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's take a ride, shall we?

 

Just as Killua predicted, the first sun rays would wake Gon up as if the same way daylight makes a flower bloom. His eyes opened up slowly, but it was quick and swiftly that he sat down and stretched, yawning.

“Good morning, Killua!” He jumped to his feet and, once standing, stretched and yawned once more. The young man had been sleeping so soundly in his bed it would make Gon want to curl back amidst covers with him as well, and he almost felt sorry for waking him up. If only they didn’t have such a long road ahead of them.

Blue eyes gazed, drowsy, at his figure. Seconds in, the surprised look cast on his features was evident, at how deeply inside his own dreams he’d been. Killua was raised a light sleeper, to be awaken by the drop of the tiniest needle; pre-requisite when one’s aspiration is to be an assassin. By nature, on the other hand, he never exactly knew how deeply he slept. Perhaps he was too tired, overwhelmed by events, and his body relaxed fully, trusting his Ten would serve as enough barrier whether it came to need.

But, well. He knew it had to do with being around Gon again.

From the shadows, color of light and chill in the air Killua could tell it was too early in the morning to start living. Leaning on his left arm, torso now raised, the boy ran a hand through white tangled hair, smiling back at the beaming face.

“Hey, Gon.”

“Hey yourself, sunshine!” Gon said, playful, while taking the T-shirt of his pajamas off and leaving it aside. With the same readiness, he took the pants off as well, to right away get dressed again; wearing the clothes he had left aside the night before, since everything else was already inside the backpack he would take with him.

“How early we hit the road is all up to you, pal. I was just thinking you would want your coffee fresh.” The sentence was followed by a wink. That energy of his contrasted with the last yawn he gave, as he left through the door to go to the bathroom.

Killua watched him go, staying in bed like that for a few minutes before heading downstairs.

He washed his face on the kitchen sink, finger-combed his hair backwards, took a glass over the counter and filled it with water from the jar he saw Gon take the day before.  To hearing soft steps, Killua turned around and took a seat by the table.

Gon’s great-grandmother appeared, mimicking the visitor.

“Good morning. You’re leaving today?”

Killua nodded.

“Oh, good morning. Yeah, we’ll leave after breakfast.”

She seemed disappointed, but accommodated. He had no idea what kind of relationship they had, because his friend focused so much on talking about Mito the old lady always felt like some sort of distant idea.

That distant idea now stared at him with small, black eyes.

“I see.”

So much for comfort in the morning. Mito wasn’t awake – he could tell by the faint breathing he heard coming from her bedroom, under the stairs. There was nothing left for him to do besides waiting for Gon, and he kept his mouth shut as politely as possible before saying something inappropriate.

His friend would come right after, and it wouldn’t be long at all until the aunt joined them; getting up in haste, walking fast to the kitchen, preparing a breakfast much more bountiful than they really needed. Again she hardly listened to any of the times the boys told her it wasn’t necessary and that she should just sit down with them and eat, have some coffee, small talk about anything. She still had to ask them about the reason for such hurry in leaving, but she noticed the seriousness of the matter in their very expression before she could start listing the things they should see and do for a couple days more in the island. _Of course_ , she would conclude, not much more than a whisper. It wasn’t fair that after all that time Killua just appears and asks for something, for Gon to follow him to wherever. But then again, the shine brighter in Gon’s already pure eyes would tell her that if Killua didn’t ask, he would offer himself - and that it gave him meaning. _He would beg to find some trouble,_ was the thought that made her chuckle to herself, behind her cup of coffee.  

Gon still lacked what it takes to get truly melancholic with goodbyes. However, the moment he threw his backpack over his shoulder and stepped outside, his great-grandmother called him aside.

Spreading morning, pinkish glow, blue tinted. The colors spread across the sky announcing a new day, oranges and reds painted along the clouds. The air was very clear, long morning shadows distinct, and the words she spoke came to settle in Gon’s heart with a contentment and careful wisdom that he was struggling to accept.  
As he interpreted the meanings through her words, it made his heart clutch in his chest.  
She was supposing that, next time he comes home, she won’t be there anymore. The moment he hugged her and heard a whispered goodbye, he experienced the sorrow that that word is supposed to be burdened with.

_Goodbye, travel safe, carry my words._

People come and people go, after all, and Gon was the kind of person who goes. That’s just him. Fearlessly, though, never so that he could flee. He would hug Mito goodbye as well without hesitation, the lively energy in his voice contagiating both women and even himself a bit more. His excitement was so overwhelming it would crush these confusing bits of sadness and nostalgia in him. Moreover, gazing at Killua meant looking ahead, and even though he would turn to wave them goodbye a few more times as he walks away, figuratively he didn’t look back at all.

The grip Killua had on his backpack softened as steps took them downhill. Not willing to make an entrance, the boy had walked half a kilometer – barely nothing, around ten minutes slow-paced after parking near the gateway. Now they were leaving, and he forgot to let Gon know, but it would become clear anyway that the Tesla Roadroaster 2020 in deep blue was theirs to ride.

Killua wasn’t really much of a show-off, and he mostly walked everywhere. When you can run that fast or take air transport, why’d you bother anyway?

Still, his parents insisted. Illumi had his own car, Milluki never left home and Kalluto... well, Kalluto was fucking one of the spiders and it kept him busy enough to travel. And if he was bound to get something he’d only use here and there, it better as well be fast and in a color that suited him, right? No need doing things half-way, even if it meant sometimes getting a little flashy.

 _That_ he learned from Kurapika.

“Drop the bag on the backseat-“ Killua begun, hands searching for the keys inside his own. He opened the driver’s door and hopped in, only then to look at Gon, who gazed at him in a quizzical way.  
“What?”

Gon whistled slow with half a grin while placing his backpack on the back seat, carefully yet. Not that he used to care the least about vehicles in general, but that one shone like the most expensive of gems under the white sunlight, and while as robust as stone indeed, its lines flowed as swift and smooth as water. It was quite a machine, and certainly made for someone like Killua to look that _badass_ inside it.

“It’s a lit ride you have here, hm? I’ve never been this fond of cars,” he said as he sat beside Killua and closed the door “but this right here, it looks like it fits you. I bet it runs like a bullet.”

His tone was, yes, a dare or an invitation, and he released his body in comfortable seat, leaning back and gazing at Killua for the short moments before having the answer.

Pale face twisted in a grin as he started the car, engines purring low in a way even their trained ears felt soothing; path wind under tires. He wasn’t fond of cars either, completely understandable. It just was hard not to fall for that one, when every curve felt soft in fingers over steering wheel.

Oh, how the boy loved dares.

Sparing Gon his cheeky stare from behind sunglasses, Killua kept his eyes on the road, voice dripping mood.

“Well... you know, bullets fly, not run.”

Gon chuckled briefly and shrugged, nonetheless finding the eyes locked in his direction like a faint blue hue under the dark lens.

“Then what are we waiting for, man?” The tone was teasing and excited at the same time, some discreet tones overlapping his usual one.

At that Killua sneered, sided, letting feet go heavier, watching the car do all the rest. Crossing his arms Gon looked at the road, feeling like snickering the moment he felt the speed skyrocketingly increase in split seconds.

Killua almost felt sorry for Mito, her remarks not so smoothly evened that they’d run unnoticed, but he was some sort of prodigal son too and that erased the possibility he’d ever repent. Yet, it could be seen in Gon’s figure this was a nice change from whatever he had going on. Steps that grew careless on their way to the vehicle, the corner of taupe eyes lightly pursed upwards now. Overall, brighter than yesterday.

They remained quiet for the short trajectory between house and ferry, windows low, taking in the view in an awakening manner, despite being both fully woken. There, they parked on an inner level and got out. It seemed they’d sleep in the car. Gon quickly found someone to talk to, a fisherman standing nearby; and while Killua joined in, replying with punctual remarks, it was easier to just watch as the three of them leaned over bow grids.

The road they took was one three-days longer, Killua thanking himself for that decision every time he was reminded what awaited him. Spending 37 hours on that metal chunk of a boat, if what Gon wished for was an adventure, then that was the surest way to do so.

While his extroverted friend enjoyed his time learning more about the people around them, for the first hours aboard, Killua took his time to rethink what was there to be done, where he should begin by, who could it have been. He tried hiding the content of his thoughts by maintaining a neutral posture, but that too wasn’t well-enough planned since it was kind of pointless. It was a pause, a moment seemingly fit for that, so he took the opportunity.

“Hey.” Gon’s voice would come from behind him, meddling in his thoughts, and he approached with a smile to stop right beside Killua. There were two cones in each side of his hand and with a glance inside the content of something fried in sticks would be seen, yet not immediately identifiable.

“I swear I tried to order fries, but they’re short in these. So that’s what they’ve got plenty here: fish.” He offered a cone to Killua. They haven’t eaten since breakfast and he remembered Killua being the one person with a stomach stronger and more ravenous than his own. Whether he’d been too busy with inner musings or if that feature had changed a bit over time, it was yet to be found out.

Taking it, the boy took a sniff and nodded approvingly before tasting one.

“Whoa. Thanks... This is great, I was hungry.”

Then, Killua had one stick by his lips he slowly chewed into his mouth and one between fingertips ready to be its replacement; and he must have looked ridiculous because two guys around them were staring so hard they almost pointed.

Well, if they didn’t know how to eat properly then Killua could only feel sorry for them.

“So, no fries? What kind of madmen are they?”

“I know, right? Savages!” Gon didn’t even grasp the irony while he spoke with his mouth full, ready to push another fried stick into his mouth after barely swallowing the content he had just chewed. Yet, he liked to see Killua was the same food craver he’s been once, and that not only he wouldn’t be judged but would see himself mirrored. It was obviously not enough for them, and he just tapped Killua’s arm and gestured with his head mumbling _let’s get s’more_ with the last bit just swallowed. Not that he would want more fish, but soda and a bag of chips would make it a meal.

Also, they could find that eating was also useful for passing some time, and their abilities used very discreetly could be used to find a spot for them on top of the captain’s cabin, the highest spot there was in the ferry. It wasn’t like they would be found anyway (was it a disrespectful waste to conceal their presence when entering in someone’s field of view?), and they could have their improvised picnic over there now that the daylight was leaving again. With not much better to do with their time, they’d watch another sun hiding itself behind the ocean, the waters below mirroring the shameless myriad hues from blue to orange. The waves were tinted vermilion, with underlying streaks of blue that clash with it, and they were just there, eating chips more like it’s for a hobby, finding the silence less weird. Only if metaphorically, they were some inches closer to each other, as literal miles and miles separated them already from the yesterday.

Encased on their pace, a somewhat return to their own old routine over cabin, their conversation roamed above everything, covering from the distances of those visible stars and their whispered ancient secrets to the soft lullaby ocean provided. Younger, they had watched the sky countless times, laid on grass, silly and breathless.

Killua by then knew how to make a map out of it and locate himself, but he let Gon teach him the myths behind them, adding lines and dots, because it’d turn into something meaningful. Now, it was as if that long drawn path welcomed him home, pale boy once more with a difficult task in hands.

He was trying to be positive, and it only turned him angry.

It was good Gon was there, better yet improving his day so effortlessly. Friendship did wonders so big Killua still questioned what would it have been of him if he grew to be what his family planned.

With one soft, barked chuckle, he got up and patted dirt out of his pants. That was enough of grimace, it didn’t fit the mood at all.

“Gon, do you want to stay here? For the night. I’m gonna take a piss, but then I’m back and up to whatever you decide.”

Since Killua already left before he could say something, Gon shrugged to himself and looked back at the night horizon. The moon they had shining above them was almost full, casting over the ocean a simmering dark silver, and there, without more light or even land anywhere on sight, the stars could shine free and unafraid. The wind was chilly, but nothing enough to bother, and Gon in fact already brought his backpack closer and laid with his head on it. Yeah, that was a nice place to spend the night.  

“Guess we’ll have many other opportunities to sleep inside your nice car.” He said at the first sight of the clear blur Killua could be when he was fast, but not _too_ fast approaching. Gon pulled his friend’s backpack a bit closer to his, since where it had been wasn’t a good spot to lie on, before lying down again. As if providentially, he yawned.

Killua took the place next to him and let his body fall quiet, focusing instead on the flowing of blood on his veins and oxygen into lungs. Some of the lights were off and everything seemed infinite, above and under them, noise a slice of the silence they dove into.

He fell asleep facing left, back turned to his friend, and woke up on his back with the first rays of sunshine, feeling someone else’s breath change from heavy and soft to short and aware. Gon was awake too.

One arm of his rested over warm chest, and Killua pulled it back and sat down, making a mental note to be careful and not hit the other boy again. Instead of a steady sleep, he seemed to have tossed and turned all night. No need to ask why.

Gon looked rested, though, so maybe he slept through and didn’t notice. Killua doubted.

He had no idea where they were, but with those hours gone, they still had around 17 left.

“Good morning.”

With the tender purr of Killua's voice, Gon groaned sleepily as if allowed now to actually wake up and pretend nothing of much importance happened there. Not that it was too big a fuzz, but he was certain there was something remarkable in the fact Killua only stopped tossing and turning and kicking a bit when he turned like that and touched him, resting almost in this position for the remaining hours.

Killua's unconscious touch was heavy enough, and in his restlessness the very hit could've broken a regular man's sternum. To Gon, however, just seemed to weigh in non-literal ways. It made him wonder about loneliness and lingering, things he wasn't really up to muse about because it took way too much effort of a sleepy mind. The consideration remained halfway to anywhere, just like that, and nothing in it seemed to attract Gon's concern enough to make him catch that train of thoughts.

"Good morning!", his voice went higher pitched, like that unnecessary morning liveliness of his, as he sat down and stretched his arms. "I'm gonna hit the bathroom and get something to eat, wanna have something?" Small laughter followed the moment he looked at Killua. He certainly turned too many times with his head leaning in his backpack. "You should see your hair. It's like a sheep on top of your head."

Killua ran hands through it, dry laugh, eyes still with sand. No hints filled the air that early, but if someone could smell food somewhere on the whole ferry, that would be Gon right there. As soon as the boy came back from the toilet, Killua propped himself too.

“Let’s find us coffee.”

In his dream, a faceless man held a spear and a letter in an argument against his father, who was bathed in dark, rotten blood from head to toe. The battle told tales of tradition and constricting habits. Of improvement and hunt.

Of revenge, greed and decay.

One foot after the other, Killua followed Gon’s nose to a small tent, which wasn’t a tent at all – more like a little car with too many doors, fabric for ceiling and a chimney.

With a warm, large paper cup on his hands, they took a walk around, learning ocean hues all again as morning settled in its full intent. His family wasn’t known for clairvoyance or foreseeing manners so he wouldn’t take that dream seriously, but he would bring the matter home.

As for now, they just had to waste time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The ferry was huge, but nevertheless too small for the amount of time they had on their hands. In such situations Gon wished he were a book person or even a sleep-their-ass-off kind of person. At least he could share that time with Killua, whether small talking and laughing weakly or sharing their silence that grew less and less uncomfortable hour after hour. He was sure that that only already cut out half of the dragged time of the trip from his perception. There was the other half, however, they just had to deal with.

In distance, streamers of tapered light splayed out, flowing through cracks in the cloud, seagulls arcing and wheeling under morning light.  The heap of sea flowed in its astral-blue smoothness from the horizon in, and the horizon itself was a thin seam where the indigo of sky and the plane of sea hemmed each other into a line of silver. The serenity, however, was ruptured by some agitated mix of not so loud music and talking as they approached the other end of the ferry. Everyone in that ship was trying to entertain themselves with books, games, bets and and whatever else, getting less restricted as the hours go by - yet, coming up a small _party_ of sorts inside there didn't seem very appropriate. Not that it was surprising, taking it for the fact that it was just a bunch of teenagers doing teenager stuff: being loud and silly with some music on. Nothing too big so far (about ten people); although funny enough it _indeed_ seemed like a big deal for them.

The music, though, was good, and being teenagers themselves they stopped nearby for a while, some curiosity moving Gon to try to find out if that was about anything or just for kicks. Some girls ahead, cigarettes on their hands, locked their eyes on Killua - Gon took a step aside just to check, and as they didn't even glance away, he just laughed to himself. Not that there is to blame them for their giggles. He looked back to his friend, confirming what he thought about him. On his turn, Killua just couldn't look less interested, as if he had barely noticed their gaze. Nor he looked bothered, nonetheless, so Gon just supposed he was enjoying the music as well, and ignoring people whatsoever.

Meddling in his musings came a hoarse greeting from a young man from the group. He just stopped beside Gon, leaning his back and elbows on the parapet he and Killua had been leaning on as well. Easy talker as always, Gon greeted the stranger back, a big smile on. They spent a few minutes speaking, sounding like mutual interest in whatever it was each other had to say. But as Gon started referencing Killua, the man started taking pauses, and probably something in the blue eyes and the blank stare started creeping the hell out of the guy.

"Are you two... together?" The man asked carefully, frowning.

"Oh, yes!" Gon answered without hesitating.

The song playing was unknown and held quite sad turn on the famous and joyful tunes before it. Killua was taking his time to analyze the lyrics, staring into whimsical faces that roamed around them without much intent until he caught those notes of interest in the first words of their newest acquaintance. Then it turned clear as crystalline water – the way toned body leaned slightly forward, arms that would move in small intimate motions, glances that lingered over lips. It was a lot of fun watching both men talking and Gon, to the boy’s misfortune, obliviously pulling the subject at him. It was clear the green eyed stranger couldn’t care less about who Killua was unless it’d put a strain on his plans.

The way Gon said it, for example. That was a clear strain coming from someone who didn’t quite get the nature of the question.

Poor guy.

"Ah, I get it. I'm sorry, guys." A bit apologetically he gestured to Killua, and left there so swiftly it could be some kind of talent.

It took Gon a moment before it clicked.

“Ooh..." He said before snickering, scratching his nape, turning back to Killua with a somehow embarrassed countenance. "I guess people just aren't nice out of the blue like that."

Killua had a sly grin, cat-like expression on his face and frowned the tiniest bit, voice funny enough for someone who would show no response seconds ago.

“Oh my god, Gon, you’re so dense. He was all over you.”

"Uh. How am I supposed to know people are flirting, you know, before lunch?" He knew how naive and foolish he sounded with that answer, and the small laughter followed. It wasn't actually what he meant, but could he defend himself in a proper way? He didn't notice the slightest hint that the green-eyed man had been _all over_ him as Killua suggested. 

Looking at his hands as he leaned back on the parapet, he bit his inner lower lip. It wasn’t that part that disconcerted him, not at all.

"Sorry about the _together_ thing, by the way. I don't think he'll tell the girls that had been _leering_ at you, though." Lightly he scratched his wrist and lifted his gaze to the ocean ahead, frowning from sunlight. "If you feel like, you know. Again, it's morning, I don't get how it's supposed to work!" Helplessly he tittered, feeling his neck warmer.

Having implied something between them was surely something he didn't mean to do not even in mockery. It felt like they just weren't _quite there_ yet and, shit, it made him feel that weird because he indeed acknowledged Killua was a handsome guy. All it takes is a pair of eyes and good sense. It just didn't matter, not like this, absolutely. Right?

Killua stared at him, funny look on his face still, an eyebrow raised. Was Gon that clueless that he really didn’t notice the guy’s intentions? 

Was it naivety? They’d been apart for the blooming years of his adolescence, and all he knew was straightforward, warm and kindhearted pre-teen Gon. It couldn’t be told where that came from, exactly. It remained amidst the things they had yet to figure out about each other.

He noticed those girls, though. And as much as Killua was unsteady and enjoyed watching the rise and fall of conversations while Gon took the front and made bonds, that was all. He preferred being the weird, seemingly dangerous company the sympathetic guy carried around; and the girls weren’t that appealing. Not that it was an easy thing to do when it came to him, so Killua didn’t blame them.

Gon’s tanned skin made it harder to tell when he flushed, but not hard enough.

That could be interesting.

“It’s ok, I don’t mind.” With a lopsided smirk, stretching an arm on the back of his head, Killua went on. “This is how it works: you should tell him that. He seemed like a reasonable guy and we are struck here for the next... I’m not counting how many hours. Anyway- it’s a good morning, isn’t it? For a misunderstanding.”

Gon's first instinct was to deny vehemently, but it came out as just a breath he took. Not really very eager he looked back at the wild bunch of teenagers laughing, trying to recognize in the faces something of the man who's approached him seeming oh-so captivated, according to Killua. The fast eyes spotted him easily, and in a second he concluded that, yes, he was good-looking, and yes, he had been liking their conversation, but, no, he didn't want to go there talk to him. Not that he would find any trouble in going there (getting to the point would be another matter entirely), and all embarrassment he was actually feeling was in that moment basically by the back of his head until he turns back. He just didn't feel like it.

"Yeah, no." As he looked back to Killua, he shrugged, chuckling, and then smiled with such a simplicity that suited him well. "I suppose it was for the best, it's kind of shallow to play pretend to get somewhere, and it would be a dumb move if it's somewhere I don't feel like getting. I like it better with more time, not just for the sake of it. I'm good with company for now. It doesn't mean _you_ have to be stuck here with me, ok?"

“Uhm, I see.” Killua nodded, grin melting into a smile alike. Blue eyes left taupe to meet the horizon, sky ridiculously bright. It was a fair point. He wasn’t fond of playing either, so it made perfect sense, even though Killua _did_ such things, when he was really bored, just for the thrill.  
Which was not the case there, by far.  
How could he be bored? This was too good.

“As if. You’d die without me, they’d eat you alive.” Tilted chin, he hopped to sit over the balustrade in one small motion, facing the sea and laughing to himself in an almost condescending way, but it was all jokes and mellow tunes he knew Gon would easily join in. “Ah, you’re so much work! I gotta protect this honest little bean, or there will be nothing left of you when we hit shore.”

Gon laughed along, hopping up to join him and sit by his side.

“I’m not _this_ naive, ok?” He pushed Killua’s shoulder with his own. “I do know you want to be my white knight in a shiny dark blue ride, but I can take care of myself and keep anyone from deflowering my innocence.” The tone of his went along with Killua’s, and he thanked silently for that change, for the steady melting of the awkwardness he’d built with his own overly worked musings. With their backs to those people, their attention was  evanescence from anything concerning all that leering around and lecherous innuendo. It actually came out to be rather absurd, would he glance away, like another random excerpt of something else from the continent pinned blindly into the ferry like to a wall of notes. He would have felt that with the food tents, but he was too grateful for those to notice anything odd about it.

Eventually, the seams between incoherences able to make them one single context would be no more than willingness. Willingness, on its turn, sprouted greener where concealing and pondering didn’t. By themselves they ended up torn apart from the surroundings, tying back only to each other in whatever pleases; whatever had made them start joking with each other about flirting and interest of other teenagers as if it wasn’t happening right behind their backs, and about dating or sex like one speaks of a show on TV. Yet that was something else Gon found interesting to know on Killua. Not that he had ever hoped to be the confiding stereotype of a best friend who knows of every matter in love or attraction that the friend could possibly feel, no, far from such. Yet, it wasn’t like he didn’t care at all either, so he would settle for sewing the blanks. Making their relationship up from scratch and still not giving up on former shapes. And about that upcoming matter, when it convened and he understood, he read between the lines.

When it didn’t, he laughed it away. It worked pretty well.

For the so-called white knight, the faint ghost of a question remained, and he scoffed in acquiescence.

It was a good morning for misunderstandings, after all.

Legs dancing over improvised bench, they spent the last moments of the morning with loud chatter as white noise, discussing the route of seagulls and their placement this time of the year until hunger minded to join them. Sun high in the sky, not even the soft ocean breeze was enough, so that they’d settle for three pieces of some barbecued bird (whichever it was, smelled incredibly great), two bags of chips and a large bottle of soda at a spot next to the car, on the lower level, with grateful expressions. The metal panels that covered half that level shelf were raised, making for giant windows that would let air circulate. Moisture and freshness kept wooden walls as nice to the touch as the panels, everything somehow dark, embellished in cold shadows. Killua hadn’t noticed how strong the sun outside was until they reached downstairs, temperature falling few but solid degrees.

He sat by one border when they were finished, letting one leg hang outside as sharp teeth chewed on a straw.

“Humans really do the most amazing things. Look at the size of this metal chunk. It floats anyway. I’m always impressed by boats.”

It was a weird, random consideration for Gon, even though it didn’t pass right through. Eyes drew an arch in their orbits to scrutinize around himself in just a couple of seconds.

“All these years coming and going from and to Whale Island with this thing and I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it this way.” He shook his legs as both of his hanged outside. “Last time I wondered how is it that something actually worked I was in a zeppelin. Mostly I just accept that they do, you know?”

Killua nodded, face soft in agreement.

There was this level of seriousness he wore all the time, even when he was in fact in a very silly mood. Who could tell, anyway?  
Well, besides Gon.  
Anyway, as boys they’d always say things as it came to their minds, so this shouldn't be different. Distracted, bored, sad and content, Killua’s, right then, was too much of a bother even for himself. Means of transportation, though, weren’t.

“That thing doesn’t make sense either.” He chuckled. “Oi, remember when I told you I came from a family of assassins? We were inside one of those. You accepted it so easily!”

Before that question, Gon stared at him like it was so elementary he could barely understand the point to begin with. Looking away, words started coming through a smirk.

"Come on, we were about to become hunters. If I was to bother with every person with the potential for killing in there..." He scoffed, a somewhat mocking tone in his countenance. "You do happen to have _more_ talent than most. I'm thankful you're on my side."

The playful bit, though, didn't leave Gon satisfied. It wasn't an answer, and not by far covered the actual meaning, even though he was sure he couldn't put into words why it was that he bonded with Killua like that to begin with. It was by heart. He felt he was supposed to, and the logic work that followed was ridiculously simple, wordless, intrinsic. Once more his gaze rested on him, tranquility in his features like the same open arms he had back then in that very day. If time even scratched it at all, its shine remained the same.

"Blood or not blood, you would be what you choose to be, so I just bet you would choose to be on my side. You were trusting me there, and I'd do the same because I felt I should.  It's that simple. Besides, see, I was potentially risking myself for very lesser things. You were my first friend. Think I just knew it would be worth the shot no matter what."

Pale eyes looked back at him, tightening around the edges, investigative. The fact Gon put an effort in converting his irrational, intuitive behavior into words was yet another interesting thing about that day. Gon wasn’t much of an explainer. Somehow, that probably crossed his mind many times before.

Killua bent a knee, leaning an elbow on it and pushing body forward. “No way you gave it that big of a thought-” and then, “You just felt like it. That’s all post-conjectures, you moron.” His sureness was less fun and more of a statement, as if to let his friend know the simple reality of it.

That those seemingly illogical manners of his were something Killua learned to enjoy and that felt like home.

“I’m grateful you feel that way. Never had a friend before too, I was impressed by how easy it seemed to be around you, and trying to keep track on our mutual records was my best attempt to justify friendship at the time, you know?” Frowning, he sighed, then chuckled. “I lowkey tried to scare you with it. We’re lucky you’re reckless.”

Gon found that probably much funnier than it was supposed to be, as if it had scratched many other times he had been reckless and thoughtless. He gave it a thought and wondered why was it indeed that he knew how to word it all, and again getting to a conclusion wasn’t that hard.

First, because sometimes he just had the right words on the tip of his tongue. Like a reflex, like knowing how to unsheathe a blade. Powerful justifications for their even tacky motivations came easily for the determined minds of enhancers as he knew.

Yeah, that, and he _had_ been musing about everything when he’s lost it, after all.

“Luck has a lot to do with it, no doubt about it!” He said within that low, though constant laughter that followed the next seconds. “It’s ironic, though, now that you say it, that this recklessness in particular protected me from the consequences of many, many others in the future. I had you like that angel on my shoulder, an angry angel, telling me what was and wasn’t a good idea. I used to get so lost when you were the one being rash!”

Nodding once again, the other boy seemed to give it a try.

“Uh. Yeah. You kinda saved my ass many times too, so.” Killua had a smirk on and he laughed through his nose, considering the absurdity of it. Gon had no idea how it went both ways, did he?

The purpose Killua looked for begun taking form because of the friendship they shared. Before it, he was pretty much lost – and under his brother’s influence, which was even worse.

He remembered the times when Gon lost his cool. Then those when he would be the one who snapped. Those where he was a coward. Their first fight.

A lot had happened. They were lucky, indeed, and for a while.

Soft, almost yearning, he gazed at the oldest of his acquaintances, the first and last to put him on a strain with little more than words. Gon was still too honest to be embarrassed by things he truly meant, and Killua would yet have to learn how to put things out.

Still seemed too heavy of a subject for him to deepen first, especially right then.

“Makes sense, though. I’d make for a very good angel.”

“I’ve totally phrased out wrong. I’m terrible with metaphors!” As he narrowed his eyes, his voice pitched enough to make anyone - let alone Killua - know that he didn’t really mean it.  

If the very idea of angels meant somewhere in their duty is to protect, Killua could get the job done like no one would. He’s got the eyes as blue as the sky and the mystical aura that had always made him scary and bedazzling at the same time, like a volcano or something of sorts. What else would it take? Well, probably the peaceful, forgiving, tolerant, selfless manners.

Yeah, Killua was no angel at all. And that was great.

What a bizarre thing to be thinking about.

“You wouldn’t want it even if heavenly given to you. After all, what’s the fun in that job? One Gon to worry about had been trouble enough, I’m sure!”

“Excuse me? What was that?”

Blinking, incredulous, Killua watched changes feather across Gon’s face while he thought about it.

Which was, again, something so characteristic of him.

Killua placed a hand over chest, smile broad, teeth sharp as his joking tone. “You wound me! You’ll learn I can take many of you.” He then thought again, and frowned, seeming worried. “No. Actually, you’re right. You’re a lot of work, one is enough. I’d probably go insane.”

“I knew it!” Gon’s reaffirming tone took the shape of a tease, as he cocked his brows once. “And, besides, you are already _afraid_ of one me, you certainly couldn’t deal with more!”

Even though he had no idea where it could lead - probably nowhere - the perspective of daring Killua for something was always exciting. Yet what was there to be done, jump in the water and see who would get to the shore swimming first?

It wasn’t a bad idea, to be honest. He was sure that in _something_ Killua wouldn’t have beaten him yet. He would just have to find out what.

For now, he would settle for the little argument he just adored, to make him feel comfortable, anywhere they could be. Belonging, even.

“Eh? Afraid of you?” Leaning back on the frame, Killua looked horrified, positively enjoying himself.

Well, perhaps he was. Both knew that. Yet, knowing and admitting were miles from each other. Killua would bite his tongue before doing so. His friend was beaming, and Killua too started wondering what could they pick as their next competition subject.

“Another Gon would be an annoyance. Can you imagine the amount of catastrophes I’d have to stop? I’m quick and strong alright but that’s too much even for me.”

“Keep on telling yourself that’s the reason.” Gon tilted forth, some inches towards Killua, leaning on both hands between his legs and cocking his brows and narrowing his eyes. “And you’re quick, yes, we’ve seen it, but I dare you to arm wrestle me so we can see about that strong bit you’re just bragging about.”

Killua agreed in a snarky remark, and of course it was a dumb decision to wrestle an enhancer, but he did it anyway.

 


	3. III

 

 

Night came, Killua had lost maybe a hundred times (he won like, ten), and everything seemed to have fallen back to their places. Just a feeling, evidently, but a heartwarming one. They found snacks and coffee, took their spot over cabin and waited the remaining hours until land. Sadly, the pause Killua had set for himself reached an end soon enough and that was it. He couldn’t ignore any longer.

Killua realized he couldn’t pretend either, so there wasn’t much left besides facing shitstorm. Leaving under the condition to return to Illumi, the boy spent every quiet minute in the last days drifting back to the questions – _why exactly would anyone do it? And if you did know why, what would you do? And if you knew who, would you still do it? And if it was someone close?_

_What if it was a friend?_

_What if._

 

Later that night, when they crossed metal slope upon tires as quiet as a whisper, nothing in Killua’s semblance let the strife inside his head show.

He was exhausted, yet rested; he’d drive the remaining twenty hours until Kukuroo Mountain easily, but barely explaining why they shouldn’t stop at a motel was exhausting, so he delayed it as much as possible. He knew very well sometimes paths crossed. Accepting easily something that’d ever happen to his father, or Zeno, or his brothers – anything in terms of work. If they died, it would be as a result of their poor performance and stupid decisions, so it should be seen as a well-deserved consequence.

And then.

Kikyo was home. She hadn’t been assigned a job in years. Whoever targeted her either had old scars or wanted to hurt one of the others.

In her old days, she took pride in how there was never one alive to tell the tale. Her bloodlust was twice, thrice his and Illumi’s combined.

It was probable someone wanted revenge, although they were all presumed dead. Still, for one to strike her, they’d have to be one incredibly skilled in both strength and brains. To have access, know the family, have the means and guts to _infiltrate_. He could count the names in one hand and there would be fingers left.

His older brothers were everywhere. Milluki had reached half his contacts abroad and every single ally of the Zoldyck family in the past 25 years had been revised, triple checked and blackmailed. Illumi tortured and went on a killing spree too large even for his standards, returning home empty handed in a quiet rage that would show even through void eyes.

His father hadn’t left the room where her body laid in two weeks. They were preserving it intact through nen, but at some point even the strongest user would have to let go, and she’d start to decompose the next minute.

Zeno stopped sleeping.

He went through the names again, head weightless over shoulders. Unfortunately, not one of those names rang a pleasing bell.

 

Knuckles white, driving way past speed limit, Killua caught brown eyes staring at him, concerned, in low light.

“You should sleep, you know. I’ll be careful.”

“I’m not worried about that at all.” Gon shook his head lightly, turning it then to gaze at the dark blur that the night was subsumed into before their eyes.

The boy didn’t really need to sleep; endurance like theirs can make a body and mind go for days, the former during even after the thinking is shutting down and reason restricts to the simplest of logics. Only that was enough to keep on fighting, fist to fist, bloodshot eyes. Resisting to the last sweat drop and walking on senseless feet, that was something he could face without flinching.

The kind of endurance they needed there wasn’t anywhere close to his field, though. And simple logic couldn’t begin to cover the hardships to be dealt with.

Now Killua was racing on the road like he’s running for his life; after having chosen clearly a longer path, with slower means. Not a single facet was colored in a single hue, not one yes not followed with a no. Hate, love and their in-betweens.

Gon knew they were in of those situations unsolvable by definition, but which demanded something to be done. A half-solution, bending the way without stopping the flow, leaving the stream forever astray from then on.  
What could lay beneath Killua’s placid, imperturbable countenance? A crippling despair, an overwhelming relief? Both, probably, and Gon had no idea what to do about it, how to even approach the possible results. He wanted to help Killua, that for definition, but would he do that silent only, because his fists never misspoke or misinterpreted? All things considered, it came back to a simple decision to make inside that car, which was basically closing his eyes or keeping them open.

Not sleeping would be indeed a pointless waste of energy if not for a good reason.

“I may know a shortcut, though. Not that you actually need to step on the brakes, I wouldn’t be such a buzz killer, but if you’re in a hurry...”

 Killua took a shallow breath, staring at the road.  
Inconstancy helped, he was aware Gon there knew it too. He wasn’t sure, though, if he could have the talk unfolding ahead of them.

 “There’s... no need. Just ask me, Gon.”

 Gon shook his head a little, slow, pouting, sight blurring by itself as his attention went inwards for a moment.

 "I don't need to ask anything. I don't even need to _know_ anything. You know that. You point me the direction, I'll go." Within a sigh he recovered focus, underlying the elegant shadowy lines of the car until lying over Killua's; sharper, dangerous like none of the curves on the road, darker even in such clear surface. "I just kind of feel like you don't know the direction you should go either. And all things considered, maybe... we could work something out."

 Killua thought about it. The road remained silent for a few minutes, grip loosening. It seemed a lot more complicated than it sounded, and Gon was as firm as always.

_Great._

 

“You’re a good friend.” He glanced sideways, lips a line that raised at the corners, eyelids heavy. “I’m quite lost, you see? There is no... clear path. I’m rushing nowhere. I’m not even sure what’s the protocol when your mother’s throat is sliced.”

Something in the way Killua said it made him smile sadly, almost imperceptibly; it was a drop of comprehension that meant poorly to be empathy, surrounded by that wicked sort of bittersweetness of knowing at least Killua could count on him, while wishing he would never had to to begin with. After all, what could _he_ know of life to actually be the shoulder or the open hand Killua needed? He would have to make sense out of his lay theories, out of the things he's heard or learned, on the road or at home. But, as always, he would say what his heart would tell him to. What felt right.

"Even if there was one, I'd suppose every protocol in your family are their own. And you were never meant to follow them necessarily, but..." Gon shrugged, half a sigh, as if he hasn't got the excuse for spending the full time of a sorrowful catch of breath. "...it all depends on how you feel about it. But if I could think of anything, I'd say... mourn. Not run, not hunt... mourn. Whatever could've happened, whatever she meant or did, she was part of what made you _you_ , right? And afterwards... we think of what to do about whoever did this, about reasons and means and, and _protocols._ Because we will do something about it. How's that for a plan?"

“Sounds like a solid one. Is it a bad thing I suppose I loved her?” White hair fanned the sides of his cheeks as Killua grimaced, scowling at the darkness outside. “I wanted to do it myself, at some point. End her. All of them. It remains a concern I haven’t managed to... Gon, do you think it’s fair– how can I mourn her when I have accepted it so easily?” Licking his lips in a nervous manner, pale skin seemed dry in colour even bathed in the neon lights of the panel. “I wasn’t even willing to come back, my sister convinced me. I thought it was a lie, a treacherous one. _That_ looks like my family. When I found out it was true, I... almost sold the tickets.”

"I wouldn't blame you..." Gon answered a little bit too fast, but in the end he wouldn't just keep that to himself anyway. "I don't know what, then. It probably affects you somewhere, but _not_ mourning at all can also be alright, I guess. Yeah, I... I think I was thinking more like, just feel it? Don't repress or do what you are expected to, like hunting someone down, or assuming some role to yourself, just because that's what your family would do or wants you to do. You... as I remember, you know, they kind of get into you, a little too much, and I would already expect that my role here would be in not letting them do it. If that's so, I'd like to know beforehand, so that I can properly fight _you_ in the future if needed." He chuckled a bit, in some kind of acid humor of one aware that the ironic words could turn out to be the truth.

“Yeah, there are some mixed feelings.”

The gaze that fell upon Gon was slow and meaningful, although whatever it referred to remained a question. Doubt was a benefit Killua would let him get away with.  
One he’d give himself. 

He wouldn’t need Gon to fight him. His presence would, hopefully, be enough. Road lamps drew yellow lights outside, car fast cutting through wind. They had the air conditioner on, a frivolous commodity; Killua turned it off as he set windows down.   
It could be that he was dragging the subject as long as possible.

Well.

Dust and whatever else came in, pulling light hair in thin strips to the back of his skull, specs hitting face in a tingling manner.

Was there the need to say things louder if he wanted to be heard, or would Gon listen to anything more than a whisper easily from this close?

“You’re right about everything, it’s why I needed you there.” Gon’s chuckle leaked into Killua’s posture, his own remarks though lacking the irony. It was pure, tired honesty, tinted in resignation and hope. “Even if you're wrong. You’re my best friend. Don’t lose.”

 

_Don’t let me._

 

“We won’t.” Without really acknowledging it, Gon ended up reading between the lines. Yet, there, if one loses, both do; it was more of the simple logic, that he felt he couldn’t trust upon in their too intrincaste prospect.

His reassuring smile was strong enough to hold itself firmly, yet not too bright to pervert its meaning. It was just precise, and as precise was the gentle hand rested on Killua’s shoulder.

“You can count on me.” Fingers still pressed onto skin before Gon pulled that hand back to himself and resumed that sigh, breathing even deeper the violent, loud wind.

“Alright.”

If there was a moment in which Killua considered outing anything else, it passed easily right before deft, light eyes. Reassuring, yes, and so much more, the gesture wrapped itself around open wounds. Killua just had to wait for them to stop pouring.

 

 

 

* * *

 

  

Air filled ears and chest, chitchat taking a seat between the boys like an old friend. They drove into weird hours of the early morning, reserved for idle worshiping, golden prayers and poppied muttering. The Zoldyck took his own turn in a small pray, chanted on the back of his head in a way only ones who grow up without religion manage to. It could be trust, if faith burned too bright for him to address it.   
Shapes were all wrong, and with them morning came.

Gon, motionless, watched the landscape by his side. They stopped talking again a while before, fading into quiescence that covered them like a comfortable blanket. Quick stops to buy food they’d eat parked by the brackets, small comments on the changes of the flora, Gon’s teeth and Killua’s hair, they acted for the remaining time like things were, if not easy, then _easier_.

When, under moonlight again, both arrived at the base of the mountain, the young heir was calmer than he supposed he’d be.

Two butlers came to escort them, another one taking his car to the garage. Unspoken agreements rested against shoulder-blades as Killua and company took a slow, painful human pace to the mansion. The _en_ surrounding it embraced them fifty minutes before the house could be seen, reeking cries and a heavy, angry patience that was grief as much as rage.

Kalluto, taller than his brother remembered and with hair now long tied in a knot on top of feminine features, stood between them and the front door, sneaking out of the bushes without a sound.

“How _lovely_.” 

The butlers went ahead of them, being dismissed by a wave of black-nailed hands.

“Hello.”

Pinkish pupils were sharp, frowning under fringe in distaste at Gon.

“Go back, campboy. And, older brother, glad to see you. The th- _Alluka_ is waiting inside.”

Killua sighed, taking steps closer and giving a small pat over black-haired head. Kalluto didn’t quite seem glad. In fact, he seemed split between gladness and being rather annoyed by the confirmation the other still breathed.

“ _Good boy_. He’s staying.”

The younger ignored his words in a poised manner, black kimono shifting gently as a strong hand grasped Killua’s wrist. He spoke politely, contrast clashing to how grip threatened shattering bones.  
Were Killua anyone else, they’d be gone already.

“First the clown, now this. Mother wouldn’t be happy. She hated guests.”

One pale eyebrow rose.

“I’m sure she won’t complain now.”

Kalluto inhaled sharply before spatting him on the face, thin nostrils wide, red flushing pale cheeks and plump lips.

 “ _You pay some respect, filthy scum._ ”

Anyone who knew Killua well enough was aware the older did nothing to stop it because, at some level, Kalluto was right. He was defending her memory, behaving exactly like her, and although Killua wasn’t fond of it, he knew those should be honored.  
At least on a tradition level.  
The boy recomposed himself, licking lips and dropping Killua’s hand. He spared Gon a look before turning around and starting to walk.

“Let’s get inside, brother.”

 

Gon was basically Killua’s shadow for the while they crossed the room that preceded the great hall. Wariness was called for, to deal with the matters he couldn’t and wouldn’t punch his way out of, but it was hard to control the itches. He followed his friend’s steps as if decoupling, disassociating, like not more than a blurry moment from Killua would expose a nerve to the light right away, which any other Zoldyck would pull and rip to shreds. The feeling was there, the tingling in his nape, ignoring the particularities that were keeping him alive right now.

In a luckily precise lazy comparison, a mice would be feeling more comfortable walking amidst a clowder of cats, that’s for certain. To begin with, cats would be less murderous towards that mice than the Zoldyck were towards him.  

Ever since everything happened – _everything_ , meaning, in a dramatically insufficient summary, Gon and his friends breaking through their front door to rip young Killua out of the matriarch’s hands –, Gon knew he was to them an annoying, stupid breathing threat too close to their own hands for them to simply move a finger and flick it. So for sure he expected from them nothing less than hatred adorned with any other negative feelings of choice.

Before such thing, yet, he remained basically wordless during any discussion whatsoever up to then. Not for resignation, and he wasn’t smart enough to be afraid; it was his limp attempt of showing respect even if only as the bare minimum. If not for her, then respect for Killua’s attempts of going through all that without complications deeper than there already were by nature.

The silence, fed by him in the first minutes, spreaded low and continuous like wildfire, the littlest scratches engulfed by the unnecessarily tall ceiling of the mansion. His anxious sigh, like an outlet valve, screamed out loud. Hushing there would be useless, but Gon’s passivity could only go so far - which was pretty near. He never _had_ to oppose to anything or to manifest himself wholeheartedly about stuff, but _not_ doing so was proving itself rather challenging in the current outraging situation.

Trying to find a middle ground between what he wanted to ask and say at once and what he could ask or say, he decided to settle for what was apparently peripheral to the main subject, though which highly sharp edges could be cutting throughout everything.

“When he said _clown_...” Before he could rephrase, the question was there already.

Killua glanced at him in agreement.

Gon and the lunatic under the same roof always held the most unexpected promises. However, whatever conversation they’d engage on died under the empty sound of steps.

The eyes that met his were emotionless and dark, Killua was almost glad, instead of vicious gold. Long sleek hair tied by a strand in a low tail, dressed fully in black, Illumi entered the large room slowly, crossing paths with Kalluto and leading him a small brush on the shoulder, in an affectionate manner. The younger turned to face them, bothered and annoyed just everywhere Illumi wasn’t.

That, curiously, was how the younger behaved when there was a sudden change of family plans and he was left behind.

Something was off.

Standing so near, it was impressive how the three of them grew up to look so much alike when their personalities couldn’t stand further on the spectrum.

“Kil, you’re late.”

He nodded, apologetically.

“Illumi.”

Eerie enough to listen to Illumi’s monochord words coming through his wax mask of a face, he also lifted ever so slightly a pointy nose to show his disapproval. The gesture was familiar, but it had been indeed improved during his absence.

“I was worried. Did you have fun?”

“I suppose.”

“That’s good. Come, father wants to see you.”

“Silva?”

“Yes. Come.”

Since Killua didn’t move, Illumi resumed his whole intent only to stare at him. He seemed to finally then notice Gon, a role too obvious for him to play, yet one he clearly did for the pure joy of being petty. Illumi had been overboard since the happening (whatever that meant when it came to him), and now he was annoyed. Borderline behaving like he did when they were both children in the safety of their home, which wasn’t safe any longer.  
Illumi would always treat Killua like a child who ate all the candy under his watch.

It should be endearing, but turned out ever painful. Killua couldn’t bring himself to blame him. He wasn’t sure what to do or how to deal with it either.  
That didn’t make it good news, unfortunately.

“Where’s Alluka?”

“Oh. She’s fine. Ah, Kil, you even brought the _bug_.”

Killua sighed, mentally apologizing to Gon once again.

“Brother, where is she?”

Illumi just gave him his back and begun walking.

“In the chapel, grandpa convinced us to move her there. She spent quite a while there plotting her moves, you see...”

“Not _her._ Alluka.”

Too close to losing his patience, Killua took one step forward, being immediately engulfed by his brother’s nen, darkness filling the whole place in waves. It was not a threat at him, but at Gon by his side, who at the moment still looked like he was trying really hard not to beat every single sibling of his.

A crystalline noise came from the door on their nearest left, mellow tones echoing in an unsettling, weird manner.

“Now, now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, right?”

_When he said clown…_

The very arrange of words uttered by that singsong voice seemed to trigger in Gon the most bizarre medley of feelings within sheer rage and frustration. His attention was driven to it in half a heartbeat – it's too dangerous a sound to be ignored, Hisoka's voice, even when (and taking into account that) the hazardous mist of Illumi's powers engulfed him with an atypical migraine aura.

It was clear as the waves weren't that Illumi's intent was to at least wordlessly _hector_ the intruder who thought to play escort to his brother, and being supposedly spared from such by a couple of sentences in that honeyed tone was worse a menace than any crude intimidation could be. As the strangling umbra around him dissipated in an uneven rate, Gon could then see clearly.

The clown.

If even.

However unsettling Hisoka always happened to be, the image of him became unhinging to look at, and having run into the troubling, incoherent compound that his appearance used to be, or even into a properly scarred and deformed face, would've been far less dismaying. Instead, the man walking closer wore a black suit, cut to precision along the lines of his body; crimson hair orderly fallen, delicately choppy, some strands brushing by his eyebrows. There wasn't colorful, evident make-up on his face, but it was tricky to tell which of his lines were indeed perfectly natural and clean when nothing in him seemed to be at all. It seemed too unlikely, that face to be as immaculate and flawlessly drawn as it once had been.

Gon knew that any kind of shape would be no more than a travesty for evilness, bearing the permanent lust ghosting in the penetrating yellow stare. Even though Hisoka was perfectly unlike any previous picture they could have in mind, at any glance you'd see it. Sharp lines of low eyelids and smirk, swift moves, the small chuckle he gave as their eyes met before his laid on Illumi again.  

“You can leave now, Hisoka.”

Killua rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t the time for this.

“Hello.” He grinned. “I fear I can’t let you have it as you please, my dear Illumi.”

"Is that so." Illumi's plain, boarding cynical tone was still hard to read. There was true lack of will to confront him right there; the halfhearted sigh made it clear. Yet its true reason, if despondency, consent, resignation or any other whatsoever, Gon could only blindly guess.

The staccato beat of high-heel shoes echoing off of stone floors closer and closer sounded ominous. Long frame got closer to the boys, leaning in particularly too close to Gon.

"I wouldn't oppose to laying off some steam, as you're all _reeking_  bloodlust," he swirled thin hand and as it rest again, the stretched, though relaxed bony fingers with sharp fingernails basically displayed Gon. "and there's such a _perfect_ candidate right here. But I doubt it, my dear, that the following drama would be as much fun." In another calm gesture, it was Killua who he was pointing at.

The moment Hisoka stopped beside Illumi, they seemed to share some thoughts with that gaze only – almost imperceptibly, then, Killua's brother nodded and the other cocked his thin arrow brows. Certainly it had to do with something they had previously talked about. Thereafter, his hankering gaze rested upon Gon once more. It felt like he was as tall as he was to him when they were twelve.

"They do want a piece of you in this house. Or you in pieces. _Delightful._ How is that joke again, the cow walked into the slaughterhouse..."

"Enough, Hisoka." Illumi stated, and with a sideways grin he surprisingly appeared to comply. He beckoned, not more than a movement of his head, but Gon didn't move.  
All he did was to notice his hands had closed into fists, and as he released them it just made Hisoka grin wider.

"It's been a while, yes?" The voice had his mellifluous and disturbing yearning, and his eyes scrutinized both he and Killua as well. "Aren't you two so grown up by now."

"What are you doing here, Hisoka?" Gon finally asked, narrowing his eyes, stepping forward as if he wanted to back up these gazes from even Killua.

“My, my. What are _you_ doing here?" He reached out to his side, to gently stroke Illumi's face with the back of his fingers. "We're here to hold our Zoldycks close in such a terrible situation."

Within a bat of dark eyelashes, his bony hand – not the one caressing, but the free one – was trespassed by a long, bright, round-tipped needle. 

Hisoka didn’t flinch. Illumi hadn’t moved. 

The magician pulled delicate fingers back as hurt hand hid elegantly behind him before a single drop of blood reached floor.

Killua was making his best efforts not to let eyebrows rise past hairline, but the pull was inevitable. These were the dark ages. What was that he just witnessed?

He was about to look at Gon in an unconscious sharing of shock when he heard from thin lips a heartbroken yet bizarre plea.

“Don’t tempt me, love.”

Illumi turned his head, tilting it to the side as he granted one whole glare to the man. To Killua, his older brother seemed unbothered, lightly interested even; but not amused in the end.  
The implications seemed horrifying.

“Hisoka.”

Just his name.

The way Illumi said it was his typical dead inside tone, and that was the only thing refraining it from sounding like he was scolding a child. He then turned at the boys, slender and tired.

“Father awaits us, Kil.”

“I don’t trust _him_.” Blue eyes were fixed on Hisoka’s. The older he got, younger he seemed, and his weird fighting boner wasn’t doing him much favor. Especially since it rose considerably after his brother’s retaliation. Confused, Killua realized the burning on his nape was another manifestation of his uncontrollable will to wash his eyes with bleach. “Gon’s my guest. Either we both go, or I won’t at all.”

Illumi blinked.

“I see.” He could have shrugged. Instead, gave them his back again, taking slow steps towards the door he came from. “Whatever.”

Hisoka looked at the teenagers, oozing excitement. Kalluto sighed in disgust, arms crossed, silky folds of his clothes rustling as he fidgeted, impatient.

The man grinned.

“Oh! But I can stay and play the host for you, Gon. You know I can be very... _entertaining_.”

The tension it caused Gon felt like one scratching nails on a blackboard, and the boy cringed.

“I want nothing but distance from you, Hisoka.” He muttered under clenched teeth and turned on his heels to follow Illumi, shortly behind Killua.

“You won’t have it so soon, darling.” He hovered around Gon, words teasing around without fixing anywhere.

“What’s _that_ even supposed to mean?” Gon spat the words, then shook his head vehemently. He shouldn’t be giving that depraved lunatic any attention whatsoever. “You know what, nevermind. I don’t care. Let’s just go at once.”

“I’ll be right behind you.” The answer _felt_ like a double meaning being so or not. As Gon walked ahead of him, the penetrating gaze brought tingles to his nape, and the sensation was that the pervert could’ve been stripping him naked.

Hisoka had this terrible, sharp ability in disturbing him ever since their first fight, and while they’ve went through a lot ever since, punches given, punches taken, he remained the talented creep he had always been. Every glance Gon cast upon Hisoka by the corner of his eye immediately clashed with yellow gaze permanently on him, shameless, tranquil. Weren’t it too much paranoia and an absurd combination of odds, he would think Hisoka was there for him precisely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we love hisoka and illumi so much.........  
> also.  
> HISOILLU IS CANON WHAT A WONDERFUL TIME TO BE ALIVE.
> 
> that's it bye


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally.

 

The mansion was surely big enough by itself, but the long, high hallways with dark walls felt longer in that strangling silence filled with unspoken feelings. Not even his friend’s presence soothed the sensation for Gon; in fact he seemed _paler_ as they crossed another living room; and he knew Killua could kill him for that, but for that moment he felt sorry for him.  
Everything was already horrible enough.  
To have Hisoka share it, and, even worse, imply some sort of more-than-amicable relationship with his brother was... nauseating, to say the least.

A chilly wind came through, making Gon sigh in some sort of relief – he breathed in cold, earthy, a breeze that wiped away the reverbering, scorching sweet scent of Hisoka that started that sickening feeling to begin with.  
Next moment, it made him wonder where it was coming from.

The smell brought the scent of candles and lilies amidst the nature details from the outside. As they turned left, it all became clearer. There, walls held sight to the exterior through large windows, some open ajar, just enough for that relieving night wind to whistle around. They followed narrow, illuminated walkway extended all the way down the corridor.  
Taking a small door led into an arched ceiling room; dark wooden coffin on display right in the middle, filled with white lilies.

The headpiece Kikyo always wore had been removed, doe-eyes and thick, black lashes exposed. She looked just like Illumi, who gave one gentle touch to her forehead before conducting Kalluto and – _god_ – Hisoka somewhere to the left.

Killua didn’t care, such so he didn’t look away from her, but an undistinguished point on his peripheral vision watched as his brother’s fingers brushed on Gon’s shirt as he walked past him in a silent call.

He didn’t go. 

Blue eyes perceived the woman’s skin, soft and pale, freckled by the same almost imperceptible small dots every Zoldyck child bared, but Killua. He breathed in, candles and nen, death just by the corner, and it was wrong, wrong.   
  
Killua didn’t consider his parents eternal. Not even as a child. He couldn’t. That would be ridiculous, even if they had different jobs in different lives.

Coldly, he reasoned this wasn’t how that woman was supposed to smell. She was too strong for delicate lilies, and she was poisonous, toxic to the bone. She never craved innocence. She never aspired salvation.

Nonetheless, living a perfect cliché, he realized how heavily fragile they all were in ways he ignored before, despite obvious and familiar.  
It felt stupid.

Kikyo was beautiful, though. Not a single hint of the gushes of blood and slashed meat he knew composed the scenario of her death. That could be Hisoka’s work, some short voice in the back of his head told him. There should be at least ten different sets of scars, yet flesh seemed untouched.  
The only lines present were the ones caused by Killua the day he first fought them and left home.

Pale boy bit his cheek, considering what was the next step when he saw himself that taken aback.

Kikyo then was so proud she cried.

The boy shuddered at the thought, deciding not to dwell too much; but it was a nice gesture. An attentive touch, yes; so, the clown was up to something bigger than he previously pondered... Then, Killua numbly wondered if that was the first time Gon had seen his mother’s face. Though it couldn’t be explained why, it felt good that he’d learn her traces the way he remembered her in his few actually fun, nice memories.  
He made a soft motion asking him to wait, not sure either of what exactly it meant, walking away.  
Silva sat by a far right corner; eyes so like Killua’s dry, expression neutral, but as he got closer, his chest sunk. Sharp angled face stared back at him, perfectly hollow. If it was shocking to watch his mother’s corpse just before decay, something inside him refused firmly to believe the sight of his languishing father. One hand reaching for the back of a near chair, he sat down.

“Dad.”

Small pupils locked on his.

“Killua. It’s good to have you home.”

The young chuckled, unsteady fingers gripping at the sides of his pants.

“Sorry. This is nice.”

“I’m glad. We put a lot of thought on it. Your brothers got involved.”

Killua assented.

“She’d despise the flowers.”

“Hope so.”

The man had a lopsided smirk, gazing at the coffin while leaning back on his chair, voice small. Killua scoffed.

“A little fun, eh?”

“So she won’t be bored.”

“Good plan.”

Silva side-eyed him.

“Yes.”

  
“Is there something you wanted to tell me, father?”

A sigh. Large frame leaned forward, backwards, forward again, heavy hands gently placed together. “We have some results, but they lead nowhere. Your grandfather is looking it up right now, but on that Illumi can update you. I...” The pause was brief, but heavy. “Do you remember our conversation, the one on your friends, a long time ago?”

Killua frowned and remained quiet.

Silva knew how obvious it sounded. Their first talk like father and son, maybe ever. Not like he’d forget that.

“Did you keep your promise?”

“Yes, dad, of course.”

Silva then nodded.

“And them?”

“What about them?”

“Did they betray you?”

Silence. Wax melted around them.  
Killua considered his remark for some seconds, not because of his answer but because of the threads along the presented question.

“No, father.”

“Okay... Yes, I see.” His relieved tone didn’t match gray eyes, but tinted every word that came through his mouth. “Thank you, Killua. You can go now.”

The boy got up and, for the oxygen inside his lungs, everything seemed upside down.

 

 

 

* * *

  

Gon had been waiting for Killua with one million questions in his mind, none of which he would utter. The Zoldycks had an eerie presence by default, and Gon mused, not really wondering, about what made Killua so different.

The moment he saw that boy skateboarding with his hands in his pockets he felt fine. Just that: _fine_. It crossed his mind how tricky clever that was, but by then that was about it. It wouldn’t be before he decided to join him on the run that he would start getting excited with how quickly and easily they bonded, and how simple it felt to be by his side... And that that was such a unique thing, which Gon would learn only later. He also knew no one can stray too far from a bloodline; oh boy, just how he knew it. What's left is to be aware of yourself so that you walk the other path. Nothing else to be done, by desire or possibility. Yet there it was, aura much beyond nen making the whole family uncanny and shadowy but Killua and, in many of the ways he witnessed, Alluka.  
He wished to spend more time talking to her, getting to know her properly.  
That kind of spark darkness couldn’t put away was the rarest of all traits.  
While Killua walked towards him, back from speaking to his father, however, that very shine was duller. It had been flickering the last days and he wouldn’t expect any less - but the urge itched in his arms to run and protect a flame from the raging wind of the storm.

Air was dim lights and thick scents, misplaced flowers and undying candles, nen disguising everything they didn’t want displayed on the scene or about their own selves. Even amidst crushing, blinding power, yet death lurked around in all its implications as a deep laughter of nature; at the egomaniac efforts they put into mimicking rescinding life, into pathetically dragging decay for their own caprices. The atmosphere itself was choking, dense in its miscellaneous of meanings, making it feel pretentious and pointless in its attempts of simply being breathable air.

So, it felt like just a matter of time before someone walks out, to the corridor, searching for pure coldness smelling as random trees filling up their lungs. Even he, Gon, did, and he wasn’t contaminated with a fraction of the suspended feelings, memories and implications that could turn into cement inside someone’s lungs.

That, if anyone there actually needed relief. Or, if needing, if they would do anything to seek it.

Blue eyes lingered on his as Killua walked past him to the door, in what Gon freely interpreted as a calling just for the sake of it, dismissing without a thought the possibility that it could mean “don’t follow me”. He would disobey the command anyway.  
Gon held the door after Killua before it closed, going through as well.

By heart, he already looked at the shadowed spots along the faintly illuminated walkway.  
His friend would be found as a gently delineated silhouette under moonlight, wind fluttering thorough white hair.  
Gon breathed in and walked closer.

His fingers ghosted over Killua’s arm through the steps needed to that turnaround of coming from behind his body to stopping right beside him. He leaned on the window and stared, not really inquiring, just attentive. It wouldn’t be anything constricting, but it was some sort of insisting nevertheless.

Not many words were exchanged, and their meaning lost itself in how soft spoken they were. They were too close to all of that, the light burning of candles and whispers inside chapel still heard by trained ears.  
Killua needed to get out.

Thankful for his presence, the boy hoped from day one his plan didn’t seem absurd.  
That Gon wouldn’t mind being brought to this, whatever it ended up being.  
That Gon wouldn’t mind if Killua ended up amazingly lost.

Those were appropriate, weren’t they? Between wrongness and expectancy, he’d always been one too rational to deal well with an overflow.

When he first arrived, there was a purpose beyond entering, beyond crossing those gates, so leaving was easy as it didn’t mean conclusion. This time, however, things led to an inevitable ending; like a snake whose jaws hold firmly onto its own tail without ever swallowing, Killua set a trap for himself. So, when deep stare eased and soft mumbles lost trail – as things usually do when repeated to exhaustion –, Killua let out a long held sigh and mirrored the touch, one faint lingering of digits that made way for a sad smile. He stepped back, then, presuming Gon would follow, to roam into the woods nearby.

It was an old habit of his, losing himself amidst nature; yet, unlike his friend, he did little to interact.  
Young Killua just enjoyed the quiet company of trees and the few birds that dared enough to stay on the mountain despite the aura. Usually, he climbed them, spending an afternoon staring at blue sky until it drew him sick.

Early prayer echoed in the motions of leaves around and above, layers and layers of sadness unfolding, and he couldn’t bring himself to go anywhere.

Now, impossibly quiet steps stopped before one large maple tree. Killua wouldn’t unleash his anger just yet. He couldn’t materialize what his father said, close to his heart, or what was meant to be. His mother’s eyes – he’d waited so long to see them again. The nature of their relations. How time affected bloodlines. The irony of her needing to be torn apart for the truth to come out was uncanny, as much as it was a self-fulfilled prophecy. Pitiful, even: devoted and worried as she was, he’d expect the knots to be at least a little tighter.

Everything happened under the attentive gaze of Gon’s. He climbed on the lowest branch and crouched waited without interference for a longer while, supposing Killua needed some time, as sky turned to purple and the dawn started to break, too quickly.

The night has lasted eons, yet like a blink of an eye it’s over. Like a deadly gunshot, you’re pierced through before you can listen to it. Before you comprehend why is it that your back is hot and you’re choking in the contents of your own ripped organs, you’re gone. You fall to your knees, and to the ground.

Killua bit his lip, breathing through nose, calming his heartbeats. There wasn’t a right way out. Hell, there wasn’t any way out. If it came across him, however wrong it should be, no second thoughts would rise.  
Crumbling sorrow consumed him, a whole new feeling. Then, he couldn’t resume it all into one single act. It lacked him the power to do anything; he’d lean into wood as legs lost their strength, and the punch he gave was not a percent of what it could have been. Purposefully, fingers bent the wrong way, nails sinking into palms. He heard Gon getting closer, not at all louder than the damage and wreck around his own head, and Killua was this far from losing it, so he just kept pushing and punching, the way his sharp daggers for nails clenched onto his very skin maybe digging their way into a miracle-

-because, he’d be damned, he hated the woman but letting her go like this was too much.

Disrespectful.

Empty.

Things were just wrong, and Killua was trying very hard to look for a way out alone, but he knew he wouldn’t manage.  
The way her body lied over encased mattress, the silent tribute his brothers paid, how everyone now embraced her personality, Milluki incorporating her insanity, the fury in Illumi’s posture, the lack of fight.  
He wanted to cut his ears off just so he couldn’t hear the usually hidden reality of a too young, too fragile Kalluto screaming against Illumi’s chest behind a flower crown.

That was exactly why he couldn’t be left alone.

Because the last time he cried was when he thought he’d lose Gon, the closest thing to him by then that didn’t call him by blood; and he barely survived.

 _Good, don’t cry again, don’t cry again, dumb fucker; you control your fucking self, you pay her some respect_ ; words crawled inside his mind as he tried hard not to let go. _Respect. Honor. Money. All these laws, all the organized schemes and self restraining, for what?_   On and on and on. They just stopped when he noticed the shuddering motions of his own limbs, crimson turning brown in low light and dripping from sore palms.  
Suddenly, Killua was too tired.

As the faint smell of blood bloomed in the air, Gon had jumped off to the ground and slowly walked closer. Looking around now, Killua spotted him right where he felt him stand, and surprised himself by the sob that came from his thin lips.  
Mellow purples and deep blue blurred together in a silver mist down the horizon, in a sky daring to be beautiful.

“I’m _sorry_."

It all came in flashes. Blurred. Suffocating.

Lilies a nauseating smell, the muffled crying like shrieks deep down Gon’s skull, and he wasn’t even sure if anyone actually cried at all.

The cold sweat glistened discreetly in Killua’s forehead and neck and Gon wanted bad to be what he needed right now. It reminded him first time he heard about Illumi. In that occasion, Killua said, or so they told, he wanted to be friends with him, and to have a normal life. Normal being, to him, probably, anything but assassinating for living. Having friends.  
Anything but taking pleasure on watching life going out of someone’s eyes.

But being tortured for discipline, or for endurance.

That was when he reached out for Killua’s hand and held it. Them. Left seized his right, right seized his left, and that way he stopped in front of him, before the tree, stopping him from hitting the trunk any longer. Lightly bloody knuckles and the drops from within closed fists smeared red Gon’s palm, and the intent in there had been pretty clear, when Killua could punch a rock his size to powder and not even scratch his skin. Gon’s thumbs moved slowly, ever so tenderly, willing to make him open those clenched fingers, to stop clawing his own flesh.

“Enough, alright?” The voice was calm, yet heavy, like his touch was. He wasn’t hesitating, he wasn’t politely asking. He would fight him if needed.

It didn’t matter Killua could do that on a daily basis, ten times before breakfast. It didn’t matter it barely hurt him at all and that this kind of pain didn’t even itch. Killua deserved a break. He deserved peace - he deserved to be human. If he was straining himself just to keep on looking strong, it was wasted effort. He would always be so in Gon’s eyes. Yet, between trembling arms and iron on his tongue, the pale boy felt anything but strong. He acknowledged his own resilience. He could fight for a long time, even when his specialty were sharp plans and punctual shots.  
Not exactly a monk, he was patient.  
However, right then... he tried to convert the mess into what he knew: nothing spoke home like pain and punishment. Killua was born and raised from it, Gon would never understand – he could never grasp it because that was the exact opposite of his beliefs, the reason why he hated all of this. Killua acknowledged, thankful for the friendship, for the caring; and he needed to apologize because this situation was absurd, he made no sense, and he’d never be anything but that very mess. Frames of memories of his mother frizzled, mismatched pieces all around. The years she taught him how to write. Their afternoons in the living room. Soft bourbon scent when she would pick him up from the floor if he ever fell.

The words he said days before were true, in the end. He couldn’t offer anything great, happy. Just ironies and complications. Killua overcame the impression everything he touched died, because Gon taught him otherwise, but it wasn’t like anything would thrive either. Where Gon was light, Killua was dark through and through. Years passed, the boy was still a boy. Is anyone ever strong enough to lose a parent? 

He couldn’t even face his siblings, instead hiding somewhere dark enough for him to feel like his skin would drown in black.

Uncurling fingers, he didn’t dare to make any sudden motions, afraid the shattering of the mind would reflect on bones. Air caught in his throat, screeches turned into silence, yet another kind of mayhem. Staring at the ground, blue eyes couldn’t really see anything. They remained open, burning. It was heavy, dirty, oil slick through windpipe, chest heavy. He also couldn’t speak. Or breathe. He couldn’t do anything but stay tiny, coiled, cold wet hands, hair cascading over face.  
Killua wished he was alone so he could just implode, like the bomb he knew he was, at the same time he was glad to not be. He remained very silent.

Flimsy, aware, stiff.

Everything misplaced.

Gon’s digits skimmed against the hurt palm, slipping in the thinnest layer of blood, without intention of doing so. Maybe just to confirm the fist is gone, the punch isn’t loaded and cocked with will at least. Finishing stretching his arms down, their hands were along their bodies again, as if it happened to mean lowering weapons; or simply lowering guard. Gon’s breath hiccuped in the way out. Killua before him was a myriad unmistakable signs, such whirlwind unraveling it was clear the hues they were in, but there was not a single feeling he would dare to call any of those by.

His fingers let go of Killua’s hands, careful like trying to lower something underwater without rippling the surface.

There was tender cold breeze from the woods, again just evidencing how utterly indifferent the universe could be to inner worlds splintering or mending, building or shattering.

The allowance of such closure spoke as loud as their voices couldn’t and wouldn’t, as Gon could count the heartbeats, no matter how fast, and calculate the strength needed in order to steady a vibration - stop the trembling.

“ _I’m_ sorry.” He hushed, barely, and his foot dragged on humid soil in one shy step forward. Damn it, he had no idea what he was doing, he just knew he had to. It took him a breath he could never take, a strength no training gave him. It was bold, crude, he couldn’t be any more lost than he was. Such acknowledgement had never, not really, stopped him from following his gut feelings. Only when it was about someone else entirely that it would make him even hesitate. So, it was clear now, only when it was about Killua that it would make him shudder.

Like never before, heavens know if for better or for worse, his arms wrapped around the other’s shoulders. Breathing out, he locked the grip, without forcing, own cold hands touching themselves by fingertips behind his friend’s back. Swallowing hard, Gon shut his eyes for the moment he would bring the other foot to support him as he stood that close - as he hugged Killua.

It was a simple matter of following the motion for Killua, from gushes of wind to watching the fall of a cheekbone that brushed his to rest next to the shell of his ear; of needing it so much, so little, and it’d been years since he’d ever been held, truly held by anyone but his sister it felt completely weird. Not knowing what to do with the long appendages he called arms, he did so, head dull with the demons he kept in control and suddenly escaped. He was not to let go, not to crumble, and there it stood – this idiot, stupid guy that knew him too well even though oblivious to the most simple things.

This stupidity of his called grief.

The boy followed, step by step, lines predicted by tensing of muscles and their release; nails not at all sharp when they grasped at the back of Gon’s shirt, hands too weak. Things suspended, each and every one of them now, and he was shocked, but the warmth was welcomed; he leaned in as easily as possible without failing. Genuinely lost, like a burden that’s being washed off, digits clung to fabric too hard. Killua reminded himself to breathe at each waving of chest against his, trying to mimic the pace without panicking.

Old, tired and very much young inside kind arms, then, he finally snapped.

It came running like rancor, like candy licorice and bad blood, claws ripping pale ribs apart. His nose followed familiar jawline to rest over shoulder, the world was shaking – why was it shaking?; he felt moisture, freshness, streams down cheeks and the odd rashness on his lips that told him to stop crying, to stay quiet and not be a nuisance.

If only he could.

What struck Gon on the chest might very well have been a punch from Killua. It was so much easier to imagine those hands electrically shining with power and fury than desperately grasping with terrible gentleness to his clothes - and that being so hard to picture was the reason his heart skipped a beat at the sound of the first sob.

It nearly froze him - he was afraid. Gon feared, he feared to _death_ that any wrong move of his could make everything fall apart. Because Killua was; and, possible or not, presumptuous as it could be, keeping him from shattering was his job, his duty and his mission there. Yet a way of keeping it selfless, because, truth be told, it was all Gon wanted from the bottom of his heart right then. Bravely, yet not more than what he needed to do, he shut his eyes again and the smallest of steps forward brought him the closest to Killua. Every uncertainty in his arms was resolved, and he seized him against himself decided to make it last until the day breaks and it sets again if needed. That shaking body wouldn’t fall to the ground. His shoulder was always meant to bear these warm tears.

In that moment, the infinities between the expectancy of a maternal prototype and Killua’s actual his progenitor blurred and overlapped, like one smudge of no more than what the hearts decides to feel, brought from what the unconscious decides to squeeze. So many layers, so many distortions, so many twists and turns, and it comes to this eventually. Inside his arms there was a son who’s lost his mother. There it became irrelevant, and the most important thing of it all, every time Killua was taken for the remnant of a scream that no one heard. It must be all inside his head right now like one million thunders. They all must haunt as deafening howls of his silence.

However, none of that was for him, Gon, to wonder.

He just had to be there. For that son, for that friend, for that boy and that man, for every time he didn’t cry and for every time he was embarrassed of feeling. So Gon’s hand lifted to the back of his head, fingers digging in white hair, to keep him safe and sound where he was, right where he was. He buried his own face on the curve of his neck and sighed trembly. Because he knew it was sadly probable he wouldn’t ever get to presence anything like that again. There was a huge chance Killua wouldn’t ever allow himself another embarrassment of such. So he shouldn’t stop it for the world before he’s breathless, before his demons are exhausted from haunting, before he’s expunged every untranslatable feeling possible through the wreckage. Killua should be a downpour of himself and break out of the quiet, choked sobbing he’s still trying to keep as silent as it’s even possible for his body to take, and then Gon would also be there to hold his hand as they walked out of the storm to meet sunlight.

  

* * *

 

  

 _She’s gone_ , a whisper against Gon’s shoulder.

It could be just a cry, just a wordless yelp.

He could be hearing things – weren’t his senses so sharp, Killua would’ve even convinced himself his embarrassment went unnoticed.  
Locked, steady, Killua closed his eyes to stop the flood.

_She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone._

White locks, black clothes, wide blue eyes sore and puffed, a hand covered in small bruises. Back in the chapel, hours later, Killua stood beside Illumi and Silva while Milluki said words that, at some point, begun sounding too much like his to be a scheme. Gon watched closely, a fortitude where his friend could rest. Hisoka ghosted beside Illumi, dagger eyed, trying hand reaching for an elbow and earning a brush off. Hours passed in silence.

No one seemed to mind.

Alluka glared at the window, seeing both nothing and everything, watching void set a truce between them and their destiny. They were all reunited at the place where nothing made sense to her, and this was time to say goodbye to the kindest monster she knew. Perhaps the worst. Later, large drops trailed her face and she held Kalluto’s hand, who stood by her side while Silva spoke. The boy didn’t correspond, but wouldn’t pull either. He merely let her clung to him.  
Alluka would’ve thought it meant they were getting closer, if she paid enough attention, but they never were that far apart, were they? Blood calls and blood claims.

Her younger brother surely knew that.

Under the same roof, one moment before heading towards the family cemetery, a soft acknowledgement took Hisoka by surprise.

“Thank you.”

The magician’s features were filled with controlled curiosity. Looking at the coffin, Illumi’s susurrated words cut through dense silence. The older Zoldyck was such a puzzle, wasn’t he? An ever turning hourglass, always failing to fall into his well schemed word traps, unless it involved his family.  
Well, at least Killua.

They were walking now, procession silent, the butlers in front of them with Silva.  
He gazed at Illumi until black eyes turned to him, polite smirk expectant.

“For _what_ , exactly?”

“Her, obviously.”

Long legs shifted their weight as they paced and the man nodded.

“Of course. Anything for you.”

Killua, hands in pockets in front of them, walked closer to Gon.  
_Well_.  
Illumi inhaled slowly, looking back one last time.

“Not for the hint.”

A change in the atmosphere, lips parting wider and turning into a grin.  
Somewhere along the trees a twig snapped, but there were no animals around them.  
Now, that suited Hisoka better; although it still wasn’t the best of places for it. Everyone around them could hear the ever so silent whispers, which meant Illumi was unsatisfied enough to send a message with Gon right there. He wondered how long it took the man to find out and, oh, how delightful it was; coming to the realization he probably followed it step by step to only face him right then.

So _unorthodox_ of him.

Hisoka waited for the chills to come in.

“And here I thought you disapproved of my methods.”

He didn’t. Mostly, the manipulator didn’t care enough even for that. It was a pleasure watching him closer and closer to lose it, skin pale shiver the slowest, face characteristically dead inside.  
The magician should be careful.  
As usual.

In a blink, air was thin again. Illumi sighed, like an exasperated mother.

“Sure.”

That was all he’d get.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kukuroo’s Mountain was enormous, and although part of the ceremony, at some point they’d all agree it was a pace too slow even when you’re descending. They went silently for the most part, a few remarks now and there, and every quiet step reminded Killua of his past, of learning the ways into the woods with house staff and his weird excuses for parents. It also reminded him, being surrounded by trees, the hours it took to pull himself together.

It was the right call, then. Not like he wouldn’t manage otherwise, but it was the right thing to ask Gon to come with him. The open wounds along his hands were a statement he needed to reckon and work with. Despite how unpleasant it was for Killua to admit, he even went vocal in how he couldn’t face this alone.  
It meant too much, as it should.   
He didn’t know how it would break him, but Gon stood there nonetheless until he was as empty and dry from crying as he felt numb.

Though by his side, the feeling of being embraced lasted. Waiting for his mother’s body to be buried, standing next to that absurd hole in the ground, Gon’s gestures kept playing on a loop in the back of his mind. Hisoka and half the butlers had left, leaving this to those few people drenched to the bone in their own pain, but Killua wasn’t drowning anymore.

Often meaning acceptance beyond what he deserved, the meaning of those gentle manners from earlier felt like a chanting, lulled by the sound of earth falling over wood.

 

_It’s ok to let go._

_It’s ok to shatter._

_You’re not alone, Killua._

_This doesn’t make you weak._

_You’re not weak._

_She’s gone._

_You can let go now._

_She’s gone._

 

The echoes remained, a note that the voice in the back of their heads won't ever just hush peacefully. There would always be a constant and eternal reverberation, through an internal space that is now an abandoned library with toppled shelves, a red canvas draining blood, a closed curtain after the final act. And will never cease to be such. That memory and its implications would be there, suppurating, festering, for as long as the wounds were still throbbing. Gone.  
In that kind of shattered end a new beginning demands crawling bare on the edgy splinters.  
If having Gon around right now could be the pressure to stanch a bleeding, could it be a suture to lessen the size of the scar?

It's dreadful to expect for things time is supposed to set or tell.

The Zoldycks knew it, so perfectly it was pathetic in the present situation. Everybody dies - yet they get paid to shorten that gap when a time of a life becomes a nuisance worth the money.

Gon measured the heaviness of a moment by how nauseating were the smell of mere, innocent flowers that only happened to be subverted. He had barely left Killua's side, even if figuratively, throughout everything. Frequently he was just one step behind, somewhere he could just be caught by a blue glance when it's needed. There wasn't really much to be said any longer, but amidst the darker quietness that follows the sound of a closing coffin, he tugged weakly the sleeve of his suit. They should stay grounded.

Walls high and cream, impeccable, infinite. There was something majestic and unpleasant in the atmosphere, like a large room full of beautifully covered furniture, closed for too long and finally open, dead air engulfing living things – suspending them in time. The manor, the memories and the feelings they nurtured; every sheet upon them running down, losing balance, pooling folds over dark, liquid marble floor.

Walking the labyrinth throughout the mansion as it all ended was like walking into a mist, even with clear air. Something else hummed in the depths of the hallways, like inintelligible curse, like an unended spell. Killua walked way too silently, and Gon kept on glancing at him to make sure he’s here and not there.

Inside weary mind, on the other hand, the young heir by his side supposed he’d been away for too long, never enough to forget but the right amount to change his gravity center.  
Losing balance, pooling folds, he became the very fabric that held this sterile, depressive background in place behind copper knobs and heavy keys.

They stopped.  
It wasn’t any different from any other corridor or any other door, yet it was. Even in their colors. The butler assigned Gon a different bedroom in an opposite hall, and the step he gave apart was like losing Killua in a crowd.

The adrenaline was certainly wearing off.

“Is it going to be alright?” Gon muttered, yet sounded too loud. He wasn’t sure what he meant precisely, but the fact that it meant many things was precise in a way.

If Killua said yes, that would be a lie. Shoulders down, trembling hands, weak ankles. There wasn’t anything to avoid it, a way he could feel safer and proper. He supposed there wasn’t any mind left for him to lose, after the life he had and what he endured, but this was close. Gon was under permanent threat, gently spoken; welcomed, even, if he knew the boy that well. But Gon was nearly an adult and his way out of that place, in literal and figurative manners. Killua would make sure no one would make matters reality, if it was up to him. What if that was not the case?

So, nothing would be alright now.  
Eventually, it was possible.  
Under his skin everything tickled, running of nails to relieve somatic symptoms. He needed a bath.

Maybe some chocolate.

Maybe a friend.

“No, Gon. Do you want to stay?”

Gon sighed, whistling.

“Man, I _definitely_ don’t want to be by myself in the room assigned to me. Everything about that place creeps my out!” He said with a laid-back tone and a plain honesty that suits him so well, and stepped behind. “I’ll be right back, then. I bring my stuff and the mattress and we’ll have a sleepover again, alright?”

Smiling, he left Killua in front of his bedroom and walked fast to the one where his backpack and stuff had been left. Even though he was trying to keep one thing light in that ocean of tar, it could be said in fact he truly meant it. Two halls separated the said rooms, long and lighted in orange, and he just crossed them quick until reaching the door he was looking for.

As he stopped in front of it, he noticed a presence from the other corner.

“Isn’t it ironic? Their mourning, that is.”

The voice was tampered in its hush, yet unmistakable, making Gon leap away and turn around mid-jump, landing with his back turned to the wall and eyes locked in the snaky yellow shine. 

“Now that was dramatic.” Eyebrows cocked and unimpressed face, Hisoka walked from the shadows like a fucking ghost, making Gon’s fist clench. He once more wished the other to be dressed like a clown again. In a black suit he could be a lawyer or a reaper and his self seemed even more concealed, hidden behind way thicker layers.

"What do you want from me, Hisoka?" Gon’s voice was a low growl, as he narrowed his eyes. It was the kind of look, however, that pleased Hisoka the most. He rest the back of one hand above his hipbone, and eyes slid down throughout Gon’s body.

“It’s so hard for my mind not to wander away when you say this with these fiery eyes on me...", an incoherent, soft chuckle; he blinks slowly and as the eyes open again they lie on Gon’s. “But I am here for Illumi, after all. And we have a common interest in helping the Zoldyck.” The free hand gestured at them both and his head tilted.

“It’s hard to believe you. By default.”

"So _defensive_. You can call me a liar, but I do keep my promises. Don’t I?”

It felt wrong to acquiesce when everything about Hisoka was shady, and whatever he managed to do with them and for them was for the sake of his own twisted, sick interests that hid behind; yet the boy couldn’t get himself to plainly deny that sentence.

“What is in it for you?” Gon asked instead, and aggressively went on, cynical. “You’re here for Illumi, you say. Why? Am I supposed to get from that that you’re doing this because you _love_ him or something?”

Hisoka snorted briefly, one snigger escaping his trembly smirking lips, causing him to bit them close for a couple of second.

“Oh, no.” He hushed within a grin, and the idea it passed was as if even the very sarcastic mention of it was so funny he couldn’t dare to allow a laugh, or he would just burst. The mental image of that psycho _guffawing_ was spooky to say the least. “It could be said Illumi and I do have a… bond, of sorts. Nothing like you and Killua, although now that he’s invited you to spend the night in his bedroom it makes me wonder.”

“You were stalking us.” A low growl.

“Have been for a while.” Hisoka shrugged, then winked, all slow, paused movements. “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.” He put his index finger to his smirking mouth.

Yellow eyes followed the next movement, yet he did nothing to stop it. Gon lifted his hand and grabbed his neck, an attack the boy had been craving for probably forever and didn’t have the chance - or the height - to perform. The other remained several inches taller, but with a stretched arm Gon could properly wrap his fingers around pale throat to make it go red, the most wicked of pleasures running his spine because of the heavy feeling under his palm.

“ _Stay away from us,_ do you hear me?”, he vociferated.

Open grin, Hisoka held Gon’s wrists weakly and rolled his eyes.

“What’s the answer that will make you grasp _tighter_?” The sentence went out basically moaned, but mockery still stung. It made a disgusted Gon release him, hissing unintelligible bad words as he walks the steps back, a conflicted kind of rage burning in his stomach.

All Hisoka did was to pull the knot of his tie to loosen it, sighing.

“You have a deranged delusion of control in here, Gon. You’re inside the Zoldyck manor, alive, because I enabled it, step by step. You will walk exactly the way I want you to.” Dreadfully peacefully, Hisoka smiled. “I want to tell you this: the ship returning from the Dark Continent with us moored a few months ago. Secondary ships transported parts of the crew, and I know who was in which. So I think you two should start over by Dolle Harbor. Talk to a certain doctor Paladiknight who’s staying there.”

Gon scoffed.

“You’re insane. We don’t even know if we want to do something about this murder. Give me one good reason why we should follow your directions.”

Hisoka grinned, lifting his brows, and remained silent. The tranquility in his expressions was tainted with greed and triumph, and Gon swallowed hard.

He didn’t need to give them any. He didn’t need to convince them; he _knew_ what they would do with that information.

Was that it? Was he bluffing? Double bluffing? He couldn’t possibly have this much control on the probabilities, that was ridiculous.

Or could he?

If anything, it successfully shook Gon, making him wonder a million things, and he was already losing the first move because he was well aware he wasn’t the best in bluffing himself.

“I can see it in your eyes you got it right.” To complete destabilizing Gon in that situation, Hisoka confirmed what he didn’t have to utter. “Are we good?”

“Why are you playing this stupid scavenger hunt if you can just tell us or Illumi who did it or what to do about it?”

“I tell you two right away, you’ll ruin it all. Illumi won’t make the best choice either. Besides, I want to see what you’ve got, Gon. It’s been a while.” He turned in high heels and waved softly as he cat-walked away from there. “I’ll keep in touch.”


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this family is a mess  
> and we enjoy hisoillu way too much

Killua could name and detail some of the well-known properties of water by heart.

Water pulls itself, in a molecular level; and we call it cohesion, as it attracts other polar molecules. He learned about it when he saw his mother walk on water one day and made the acute mistake of asking how did she do that. It earned him long and naturally torturing lessons with Illumi and Milluki, which he only fully comprehended after learning nen himself and realizing it had a lot more to do with manipulating water properties than anything else.

Of course they wouldn't say a word about that. And of course he’d remember her in the smallest of things, like this.

He cursed himself.

Heat came to knowledge after being put like a frog to endure sessions of gradual water boiling as a kid, and trying to transmute water to his will only to convey energy from it years later, with Alluka. About density, from watching things freeze and waste away. Floating bodies on frozen plaques, floating cubes inside bathtubs filled with melting ice. How blood changes the timing and the temperature.

How fidgeting interferes.

He'd witnessed it happen many times.

Water runs in streams and currents, flows fillets and rivers, pools oceans. It embraces the weak and the heartfelt, strengthens the weary, speaks to the soul. It rules the feelings realm; fills, expands, nourishes, breaks, intoxicates and kills.

Water and the moon, mother and patron of all sensible things, lived a romance told in stories from centuries ago.

It is the element of his star sign, Cancer, that rejoices under the influences of a loving mater.

How unfortunate for him, to have these many feelings and this wide darkness of the night and the unknown swirling inside his very core.

Finally, water was supposed to wash things away.

Seems simple, when it is absolutely not; yet another lesson from being an assassin. It also came with being a child told to rub salt to his own wounds.

It goes along the lines of soft touches and small pleas, his very private rain. Killua feels drained, and whatever falls over his head to drench his self mixes with the storm inside, so much weaker than before his episode with Gon in the woods but not near enough to be called weaving.

Gon.

He was something, wasn’t he? And what good of a friend he was.

Killua tried his best not to be so bitter, at least about this.

Still light, sun and earth.

He sighed, resuming his shower.

When Gon reached Killua’s bedroom again and pushed a mattress in, it felt like he’d been gone for hours and that everything was in the wrong place. Exposed, manipulated; _that fucking clown_ , it was hard not to muse on how he should’ve just squeezed that neck inside his hand and broken that spine right there before he spilled his venom.

Liquid sounds and the soapy scent from the bathroom told him his friend was taking a shower, and he released the mattress beside the bed, sitting down. Would Killua know what to do? Should he tell him now what happened, when he was so overwhelmed with everything that was happened, and his mind was so filled with toxic, corrosive thoughts and memories?

Thing was, he probably wouldn’t be able to hide it even if he wanted. His brooding face would tell him out, his eyes swinging from side to side, brain overheating and frying as he tries to come up with a solution.

He should just wait. Everything that may come, they should deal with it together. Right?

The steps coming from the bathroom were stable, self-centered. Killua found Gon by his bed staring at the wall, seeming a lot more undone than minutes before.

He walked closer, silently.

“What is it?”

It made Gon chuckle, humorless, wondering whether it was that obvious or if Killua could still read him that well. It wasn’t, however, like Hisoka had any trouble with so either. Blinking quickly he rest his eyes on his friend; hair wet and the black suit replaced by some comfortable, mismatched clothes, the final sigh after eternal days. Gon wished not to bring any of that right now. He wished they could just lay their heads to sleep.

That sick psycho.

Gon’s lips parted for a breath and the simple answer was there to just be uttered - I met with Hisoka down the hall and he is playing stupid mind games with me.

Yet he caught his breath, closed his mouth again and frowned, eyes gazing away as if past through Killua. There was something else he started wondering in the minutes he was alone in that bedroom.

_You are inside the Zoldyck’s manor, alive, because I enabled it, step by step._

“You said-”, he gazed at Killua again, and cleared his throat “you said it wasn’t a coincidence you found me in Whale Island. How did you know I was there?”

Killua blinked, twice, then he sat by the bed as well.

"I see."

Hisoka.

Who else would take Gon out of his beaming self that quickly? It was better than the other options - where he'd been struck by the same horror Killua wore upon his shoulders, for example... but it wasn't exactly _good._ He was shaken, stiff, and the last thing they needed now was some sort of lacking trust, on friends or himself.

"He warned me as soon as I entered the gates. I figured he'd been keeping a watch on you, like he always did."

It was barely enough, but he wouldn't complete the sentence.

_I would grab any chance to believe I could see you again, and I was reckless._

“That- he-...” It brought a twitch to Gon’s body, a small grunt leaving his throat. “-yeah? he still is, he’s been stalking us in here as well. I should be able to sense him, I- I’m not strong as I used to be, and he can conceal himself too well, still how did he-...?” Fingers grasping his own knees, he felt overwhelmed by a whirlwind of possibilities where he was exposed and vulnerable, in the past or in the future, and he couldn’t brush off this sensation he was walked on a leash whatever the decision he made. How could he possibly know he was in Whale Island? How much else did he have up his sleeve? How far could he actually engender everything? It made him shut his eyes and show teeth. “Damn Hisoka.”

A crease deepened between light brows, and Killua spoke calmly, low.

“What did he tell you, Gon?"

Breathing in, Gon shook his head. That was exactly what Hisoka wanted; to make him feel they were defenseless inside his hands, clung to him like with Bungee Gum. And as inadmissibly as it was, Gon knew he was more vulnerable now and the feeling was horrifying when he was supposed to be a cornerstone for Killua. Hisoka had been surgically precise in finding that weakness, but it was his blow. Now it was their turn.

They couldn’t afford his hesitation, not at all, he had to get a grip; if not for him, then for Killua. Nodding at himself somewhat assuringly, he aligned his spine again and took a breath.

“Okay. That psycho won’t get to me easily like this.” He stared at Killua, serious, looking and sounding perfectly contrasting to the very same image he’s shown moments ago - even though there was this barely perceptible tremble by the end of each of his careful breaths. “He gave me one hint he says that will help us finding your mother’s killer. And then he implied he’s been manipulating us all, Illumi even, and that we’ll make the decision he wants us to make, whether to follow the lead or not. He’s probably bluffing, but I don’t where in the discourse and how much. I don’t know what he wants with this either.” He was clear, firm, recovering the steadiness of his exhaling with every breath. As he frowned, his eyes lit up with a low burning, alike rage, only not as thirsty. “But we will find out. He can’t possibly control everything. We’ll find out what he really knows.”

Many things ran beneath those words. Not that Gon implied anything else, or that he hid details. No, Killua didn’t think that.

They ran through blood singing in ears, a heart that beats too fast. There were promises in his fists curling up in balls, being defenseless in such a sore matter bringing the boy back to a sorrow he never really left.

Killing Hisoka crossed his mind two or three times as Gon spoke. Naturally. Knowing the man, he could be lying about it all and they’d still have to check, given there were no other clues.

Up to then.

Killua had to have a small chat with his father and Milluki on what they found – if they did, after all. Bitter, the boy recalled there was also his dream, a tale he had yet to tell.

One never knows where enlightenment might come from.

He needed to be wiser. Nevermind the coiled, molten lava pooling on the marrow of his bones. Whether Illumi was compromised or not, his position obviously was dangerous, so he couldn’t count on him enough before being at least one or two steps ahead Hisoka.

Clear eyes were sharp but still, and he inhaled deeply, relaxing when letting go.

“We will. What is it?”

Trying to read what might lie beneath Killua’s blank expression was tricky, but the very steadiness was overly cautious, like the awareness of a bubble lying on a cactus without bursting.

No need to go much further, though. He knew Killua was as angered as he was, the rage of his fueled with every other feeling in a plethora of torments.

Gon still swallowed hard and took a full breath before speaking. It felt like stepping forward into the quicksand more and more.

“He mentioned the ship from the Dark Continent and said he knew who went to where after their arrival. Then he... he told us to go to Dolle Harbor and meet _Leorio_.”

Then Killua frowned, fully, turning his torso to stare at Gon and let his body speak how little sense that made.

But did it? Something didn’t quite add. If Hisoka was lying, why would he pick Leorio, of everyone? He knew a load of other people – criminals of all sorts, sure, but also every other kind. Why exactly Leorio?

And _why not?_ Since besides their friend, he was also a hunter himself and a member of the Zodiac, that went in high stakes to the trip as much as everyone else.

Again, maybe Hisoka just wanted to mess with them.

But, if not their guy, perhaps he at least would have something to share, a lead that could get them nowhere just as somewhere.

With lip corners down, his gaze fell on the light, white covers they sat on. Dumbfounded, Killua knew it wasn’t all that absurd to even consider whatever the magician said, though. And to think the crusade had something to do with them.  
Hisoka was one of his brother’s ressources, after all.

They’d considered that, too. How it was a huge coincidence she died after a heavy load of people came back. They’d considered, and they’d act on it.

“He’s ridiculous. If he has something to do with this I will take his stomach through the hole he calls mouth.” Shifting his weight, he bent a leg, a distant picture of a half lotus. “I do miss the old man, though.”

Gon chuckled, a cute small smile in his face for a brief moment.

“I miss Leorio, too! And Kurapika! I’m so curious about how they are doing...” he sighed and the smile faded slowly “...but this isn’t how I expected to search for any of them. It successfully made me worried Hisoka may be preying on him as well. It feels like a bad idea to follow right away his instructions, but I think we _should_ go there anyway.”

Sighing, nine tenths in tiredness and one in sheer sorrow, a weird kind of relief interspersing somewhere between those, Gon looked down, at his feet, at black dress shoes dirty with soil. The very suit and his own dry sweat was a reminder of too long days, which deserved to be buried along within the funeral, and they shouldn’t be digging out bones. He clenched his teeth.

“I can’t help the feeling that Hisoka is doing this all for the sake of a maniacal chase for me. But it sounds crazy when I say it out loud. I’m sure it’s way deeper than that. But he did also say he _wanted to see what I’ve got_. So at least one part...” By the corner of his eye he looked at Killua again. His hand slid on the mattress as a faint attempt of touching, but he lacked heart for so halfway. He swallowed hard once more. “I’m saying this because... I’m sorry. For making this even more complicated to you. For listening to that pervert, at least. I swear to you I’m not letting him get in your way. Everything seems and feel blurry now, for me, and I’m sure that for you even more. But it’s only because of where we’re standing now. We’ll find our way out of this, and we’ll break free from this madness. It’s us, after all. We do this.” A reassuring smile, one which Gon managed somehow to keep right on the verge of being outraging, but never quite there.

“It’s ok, Gon.”

Killua wasn’t returning his gaze, eyes losing focus instead and not really seeing the white fabric they pooled into. Upper body fell, into them, laying on his back.

He remembered the countless times his eyes would open to this ceiling. Rage still burned in every breath, and he knew Gon didn’t mean it like that, but it was about time he realized there wasn’t the need or even a reason for him to feel like he should solve everything, or that the world did not always revolve around him.

Some things weren’t up for solving.

They only grew broken until they disappeared completely, like Kikyo.

“I believe you are a target to Hisoka, have always been. But it’s also not only about you, so don’t apologize, man. If he gets on my way, as you mentioned... If his words prove to be wrong or this mess a result of his actions, we’re not the only ones inside this manor to want him dead, but I won’t let anyone get their hands on him first.”

“I’m damn sure he counts on this. I don’t know if the fact that he’s with Illumi on this means he is more or _less_ likely to be truly helpful. He gets off on this life-threatening situations. Way too much.” Gon wrinkled his nose and lifted his upper lip in disgust. “God, he’s gross.”

Shaking his head, he got up.

“I’m gonna take a shower... with bleach and steel wool, I guess.” He walked around the mattress left on the floor while taking his jacket off.

It wasn’t like they would fix this overnight - worst part was, it wasn’t like that will be the biggest of their problems. More like it was the root, and he already felt the shadows of a long trunk and branches growing above them. He had to keep it cool, he had to stay steady. In his mind, yes, he was supposed to solve whatever there was to be solved. They should win every one of their fights, or take as many punches as needed before accepting defeat.

“We should sleep this one off and think better about it tomorrow, right? I just had to share it now because, uh, it wasn’t like I was hiding it very well.” An awkward chuckle followed as he loosened the knot in his tie and pulled it off his collar, releasing the first button of the shirt.

He grabbed his backpack to drag to the bathroom with him, and still, waited a moment to see if the other wanted to say something about it or else before he proceeded to his shower.

Killua just stared at him from the bed, until it became clear there are no words left to be said.

They're all tamed on the cages inside his head, and there they would remain.

If he couldn't manage not to let them out that aggressively, then he should just stay quiet. Gon left, and while he's away, the other boy realized for how long he'd been walking the line on his own. Yeah, like he would let Gon do as he pleases. Out of goodness, nostalgia or repent, it didn't really matter what his intentions were; not when Killua needed to be strong enough to, if not alone, at least deal with it properly.

Hisoka, Illumi, Kalluto. His father, the pig, his grandpa. Was there anyone he could put his faith on that? Anyone that wouldn't ruin things, or whose destiny didn't lie on foreshadowing him?

Wanting revenge was such a different hue from being trustable.

There wasn't.

He didn't even know how they'd spent those four years, to begin with.

Turning to his side, he closed his eyes and waited, once again obsessively revisiting every detail.

 

For Gon, what speaks nature feels more sheltering by default, and in a simple conclusion Gon knew warm running water would be the best purging feeling that whole situation could provide him, and it was no more than a relieved sigh. Another could be in wearing comfortable clothes again, white tank and shorts, ripping out of his body that coffin of fabric smelling of anxiety and lilies that his suit had become by then.

But relief would end about there.

Gon could make plans. Not as an exception they turned out to be really clever. But he wasn’t some sort of born strategist, not in a million years. Any time during the dragged minutes he spent inside the bathroom he tried to come up with a solution, he was left frustrated. Rewinding choices and doubting moves, running in circles inside his head to notice over and over again he had been trapped. He was so much better making decisions as it goes, feeling the surroundings, trusting his gut feelings.

Everything in him now would conclude that the right move was to try to find Leorio. But that wasn’t instinct, that was _concern_.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t the right call, though. He was just wondering how aligned it would be to Killua’s interests.

They had to make a decision and stick to it.

As he left the bathroom, it was like Killua hadn’t moved an inch, and he closed the door behind himself as silently as he could, walking barefoot to the mattress he had brought, meaning to lay down there at once.

“Not so fast.” With one arm, Killua slowly got up, smoothing the wrinkles of the spot he’d been occupying to then take a few steps closer. He smirked and threw his body over covers and soft pillow, taking in the softener scent before waving a hand at Gon.

The boy looked amused enough.

Halfway to a _you don’t have to_ Killua had already left the bed free for him and lied on the mattress beside. It crossed his mind to disagree, but Killua was already very laid down, getting comfy (even if just to tell Gon he wouldn’t switch).

Killua was also trying not to sound too tired. Whatever feelings had been boiling a broth inside ran colder, because that was just him.

He would insist, and he would try to take matters on his hands.

He would also try to softwalk his path across the room without waking him.

Full package.

“You’re on the bed, clean boy.”

“Okay, fair enough, I guess.” Gon shrugged and chucked at the parallel, the host sleeping on the floor and leaving the bed to the guest. It amused him, the attitude with all its whims adorning, and he sat on the bed then, pulling the folded covers.

Gently, but at once, he released his body laid and allowed it to weigh all it was meant to, making the next sigh harder. That change of perspective.

He turned and took the liberty of turning off the lights from the switches near the bed.

“‘Night, Kill.” The implied good didn’t come out, but he felt like uttering that part as if it’s deprived of semantical meaning, a word version of a reassuring nod or something alike. Pulling the covers, he laid on his back and closed his eyes, hoping exhaustion would win over anxiety and concern.

Killua was a silent lamb under covers, thin blond hair fanning over white pillow.

“Night.”

He didn’t sleep.

Not that early, neither later on. He did not sleep so he did not shift, staying silent and still for long hours. The rattling between his ears gave place to an opaque void, swallowing every thought. It was the softness of cushion under him and it was that tiny disgust that hits when your fingers touch, despite being placed side by side on your hand.

A path to nothingness.

So he didn’t think, but he didn’t sleep.

At some point, during the night, he got up. He knew Gon woke up just as he got on his feet, so he just whispered “I’ll be right back” and “Just a thing with my father”.

When he returned, two hours later, it seemed nothing had changed. His room was still the same, the mattress the same, Gon the same.

Only it wasn’t.

Laying down, Killua didn’t say a word. He just let Silva’s story spread like poison and slowly dissolve everything inside him, until morning came.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The mist from several minutes of running hot water fogged the air inside the bathroom and clouded the glass of the box and mirror. Like everything in that manor, the room was wide and tall, every sound redoubling and dispersing in an eerie echo.

Bare feet took some steps silently on cold tiles, and with them Hisoka stood in front of the sink, towel hanging on his shoulders. For a shred of a moment, his eyes locked in a drop of water sliding down the mirror, cleaning its way to leave back a path of transparent shine.

Breath in, through a patchwork of a nose; and scarred thorax lowered until his lungs are emptied back again.

Slowly, slender hand wiped the mirror and he stared at the reflection. An eye wouldn’t meet the slightest trace of any inflicted imperfection. The figure was made of smooth, even, flawless texture flowing in sharp edges and smooth curves of muscles.

A lethargic blink. Eyelids remained low, and his fingers ran through crimson hair, combing it back, sharp fingernails scratching his scalp.

_Something else in the ringing._

Fast, sudden, citrine irises cast aside. Pupils widened while his smirk lifted, and a discreet scoff followed.

Tossing the towel aside, Hisoka turned around and headed to the door that led to the bedroom assigned for him.

Stone floor wasn’t any less cold than tiles, but the air to where he walked was cold and clear.

“Well, _hello_.” His hand remained hanging on the doorknob, fingers loosen. Hips tilted gently to the side the moment he stopped and let his hand fall along his body.

Thin fingers played with sleek, raven hair, and the eyes that stared deeply at him were nothing short of interest, despite blank.

Illumi’s figure sat by his bed, comfortable enough for his regular stiffness. Lights reflected on his impeccably greased, black social shoes that now scattered cemetery dirt across the floor; the suit that fell over lean frame making him look slenderer still.

The eldest Zoldyck sibling was a living and breathing loaded gun, and it pointed at Hisoka with every intent to be triggered.

“Hello.”

Perhaps that aroused him, Illumi considered.  
He was a pervert, after all.

Knowing Illumi wouldn’t blush or curse held a wicked, fuzzy satisfaction, the closest it gets to warmth instead of regular dead cold or seething hot. Illumi wouldn’t be outraged knowing that it wasn’t a pantomime like a funeral that would turn pleasure into sorrow, or the smirk into a frown. Murder was murder; funerals were the fancy cutlery for a meal that would still make his mouth water. White paint poured on top of a masterpiece that always made his eyes glisten.

_It did._

It aroused Hisoka.

Walking closer as if each second drags for five, said smirk settled in thin lips as Hisoka looked into eigengrau irises. If there was any need for him to pretend he wasn’t amused, they wouldn’t be there at all to begin with.

Eventually, it was _that_ self-effacing. There wasn’t even the need to refine, to add conditions or contexts. Just this visceral feeling, a strangled moan of pain and desire always throbbing somewhere inside their fucked up minds.

That was where he belonged, licking the barrel of the gun, cuffing himself to the ticking bomb. The best to be done in order to align their feelings would be planning what to do next. Sharing the bloodlust in the air, both lungs filling together.

The deadly glare in Illumi’s face widened the other’s pupils, but the body remained at ease, soft, relaxed. Still pale even under texture, calm breath, one arm stretched along bare torso and the back of the other hand resting on hip.

Waiting.

“Whatever it is that brought you here,” mellow voice, he purred, “I’m all yours.”

Those words dripped honey, intoxicating, and pooled between men as an open invitation Illumi wasn't sure he could reason now. Undeniable, how it had proven itself useful having the magician among his assets. A perfect image of the predator archetype; but that was it.

While the Bluebeard tale was one of Illumi's favorites, he would die before watching himself become an extended version of the damsels he would call wives and put in distress on his basement.

Or his brother.

Or any of his kin.

Illumi himself _was_ overall the image of another beloved persona of his, less reckless and with a way heavier grip.

Perhaps it was a sign of the times, he'd of all people be the one to whom Illumi’d make that sort of arrangement. What kind of control was that? Under the weight of his governor scepter, Hisoka rejoiced. Though, while he did have fun with the man, with every improbability that implied, he didn't count on the heartbeats missed or the rage buried within. Overall those strong emotions were, if present, way smoother. And he, despite contracts and the weight of his word, was suspicious.

Wet, the ridiculously loud rubine hair that framed ears and cheekbones slowly curled at the tips, and it was always good that there was no need to hide his doubts from Hisoka (not because he shouldn't have them, but because they were probably right and the man would always be oh-so-amused): he would love to unleash his rage on that very body of his any other night but that one.

_Stop._

He was sad, yes. Deeply. But his mother's condition was, although most, not all of it. Illumi saw through a few of his plans before they unfolded and he knew his most common pattern. This time, if Hisoka planned on lying, he'd probably pick a much more controlled path, which meant he probably already had Illumi on a loop around his finger. The magician, as entertaining as he was to watch, knew no empathy.

That wasn't bad, but not exactly good either. Especially then, when Illumi's nerves were so exposed they could be easily reached.

He'd never expect Hisoka to be gentle.

A blind man could see he had at least one wicked plan going on. Illumi let a needle slid from under long sleeves to the tip of his indicator, nonchalantly, holding lightly between two fingers; words a still surface that hid the currents inside his head.

_Stop, Hisoka._

“Enough fun yet?"

Golden eyes lowered to that slender, talented hand holding that pin, and he watched as languidly the metallic shine eased between phalanges, sliding against soft skin.

The absolutely acute tip piercing his skin wasn’t a strange feeling for him any longer. Oh, no. It felt like Illumi every time they tore his skin. For kicks or for kink, for a warning or a warrant, for a threat or a thought. Precise and decided, through and through, ragingly discreet, delicately deadly.

All which Illumi also happened to be when it wasn’t needles he thrusted into him.

A chuckle was followed by a violent, chaotic throb inside his veins, and Hisoka licked his lips. Another step even closer, then another, skin tingling in wondering where it would be that the thin metal would nail.

He had noticed the distress. Grief and sorrow, the never-ending smell of soil and flowers like a disease, venom dripping out to contaminate an already agonizing pride. Every Zoldyck exposed, tainted, a gaping wound right in the middle of the magnificent legacy. Dark eyes duller when no one had even ever seen a spark in there to begin with.

The tragedy, apparently, was that he really couldn’t care any less.

If anything, Hisoka was thinking of consequences. Measuring his steps - playing the whole concert inside his mind, rehearsing the choreography. Getting carried away, however, was too easy; the whole mess tasted like rare blood and left a trail of bodies, screams echoing adrift. It was all too perfect and Hisoka just couldn’t help it - but the littlest tilt to the wrong side would be enough to fit a needle.

“You _saw_ I wasn’t nearly as amused as I would like to be...” his hand reached out for Illumi’s hair, the velvety texture brushing in his fingertips, “but you kept the glare, so don’t blame me for enjoying it.”

Thin fingers moved along in a gentle wave, tar black strands sliding to their betweens. In a mimicry of affection the fingertips with sharp nails guided a lock to behind his ear.

A slow blink, a permanent smirk.

This immobile stare they shared, deep and quiet, was a dance of shapes alone, and expecting shifts on breath and rhythm would be the equivalent of a dreadful misconception. Hisoka wouldn’t fail, he was built much wiser; Illumi wouldn’t fall, there was nowhere deeper. Only things present were the questioning silence and reckoning when it unfolded into understanding. Although not yet what, exactly, he knew the transmuter would gladly hold him in place with a warm hug while slashing chest open. That didn’t bother him before, and wouldn’t now, had not the evergreen doubt that rooted beneath his scapulas found its way into his veins.

Illumi felt his fingertips relaxing. It was no use, but they had enough time.

“Carelessly vulgar, Hisoka. Like your words.” It could sound like a threat or a compliment to his ears; the mouth to pour them never seeming to worry enough; nevermind if that was an effort he made, to speak with words and not pins, only because he felt devastated.

Illumi wanted Hisoka to step back with his half hard cock out of his face, far from his hair and cheeks.

He caressed a pale thigh instead, leaning an inch forward, face and body language equally blank despite only the free hand feeling skin, needle accommodated between indicator and middle finger, round tip between palm and flesh.

“Did Gon enjoy them?”

Heat erupted from Hisoka as his mouth shifted into a full grin, skin tingling where round metal and meticulous fingertips brushed against his skin. Blood flowed thrumming in his loins, and the natural response of hardening was his predictable trait. The tip of his tongue trailed along his upper teeth, from the edge of incisors to the corner of his own canine.

_Oh, Illumi._

"Gon doesn't have to enjoy it." His hand fell through cascading hair before lying on narrow shoulder. Fingers closed around the shape of his muscles - not too tight, so that it could slide down Illumi's arm on dark, soft fabric, feeling him meticulously. "I'm inside him. There's nothing he can do about it."

One dry chuckle, and in a teasing motion he was caressing down forearm and seizing the wrist of the hand that touched his thigh. The grasp, nevertheless, didn't restrain Illumi's moves as much as encouraged them.

"You, on the other hand, my dear Illumi...", Hisoka’s fingertips drew the lines of the other's bones up to knuckles, and near his own wrist the magician felt the merciless acuteness of a needle.

Desire seethed; pleasure held.

An audible sigh, lids narrowing, not much more than lazily.  

"...you're _much, more, fun,_ when you get what you want..." Words slithered in his sleek voice and his fingers rose half an inch from Illumi's hand, ceasing touching flesh. Instead, the tip of his index finger brushed along the entire length of the pin, applying slight pressure, allowing - _causing_ \- the sharp edge to tear a scarlet line where it slashed his skin even gently. "...and I want you enjoy it." Hisoka released a long, low, guttural moan.

There was an inescapable irony in that, hovering around meanings which Hisoka never cared to unlock, not if he could just dig his nails into it and rip it open instead. Illumi wanted to perforate him, pierce through him if he's got the chance, any time. Yet, the one aspect he needed to comprehend fully was enough for him: what's the use of a threat when the intended victim hears it as flattery? Doing that, hurting himself in Illumi's weapons, insinuated the _what_ he wants, yet it not only fails in reaching the _why,_ but manages to proffer a probable _antithesis_.

Lifting that hand, gravity pulled back the drop of blood that was almost falling from his fingertip. The direction inverted and, before it dripped down his palm, Hisoka caught it with his tongue. Eyes on the dark of Illumi's, not even blinking, he licked the red trail, and, once that finger was on the flat of his tongue, slowly sucking it clean once was the following gesture Hisoka chose to display, and that was inherently true. All of it. Illumi knew, too. Not a place he pointed would be properly hit. Not a spot without drifting. All his hints were misplaced and torn.

Still, there they were.

Power.

Control.

Pain.

The familiarity of those traits embraced his long body and took him into dark and red, scorching arms.

Of course he’d answer evasively. Of course he’d lean onto needle, that’s exactly why it was put there. It was good Illumi knew what happened on corridors, but the breaks between their encounters – the months apart, miles out of reach, undercover – there was only so much he could know before investigating, and Hisoka there placed himself as close as possible in order to forbid him from doing so.

They continued their pace, step after step. A cruel routine.

It felt like home.

_Stop, Hisoka._

Yet, the quiet throb pulsing inside demanded whatever small punishment he could deliver. Whatever source of control, as irrefrainable as Hisoka proven to be, would help. Not enough, not even close, but would help.

If Hisoka was meant to die under the grasp of his pins, choking on his very silent poison, then it would at least be a matter of choice for both. That, too, had been settled a long time ago. Fast and liquid, burning mercury, Illumi was on his feet. Sharp daggers for nails, hand reached up chiseled chest.

The man was all soap and warmth.

Not a bit disappointed.

Like he had predicted everything.

Illumi didn’t care.

Just like Hisoka ensured Gon’s security while he paid them visits, it was no secret the magician himself was there because _he_ allowed. Another breath, a blink, a fanning of eyelashes.

Precise, close and sharp.

There was a reason behind the weapons he picked. That applied to both needles and present company.

Next second he was pushing the magician by the back of his head, behind him, one arm bent back and pushing forward.

Barely there and too easy. Why would he comply?

“Is that so.” He let go before there was a reaction, although he knew there wouldn’t be. Still, he waited by the corner of the bed, staring down at the man that now laid on his stomach. “Act accordingly, then. I don’t mind you deciding things on your own. Just not inside this manor.”

The way Hisoka licked his grinning lips while leaning his forehead on the mattress was just plainly lecherous. His eyes were closed while he breathed in, before his body started shaking discreetly in some hiccups.

It would take a couple of them until the sound of low laughter sets in clear.

"Fuck, you're _good_." Squirming slowly on the sheets, he bit his lower lip, still grinning and laughing and claws soft fabric, staining it in dark pink where cut finger touched.  "I miss this."

When with Illumi, his blood simmered, only patience and sick determination keeping it below boiling point. Even in the times he could predict his every move, the Zoldyck would still be impeccable and luscious... barely resistible at all.

It was never the hit itself, but the way he hits. The way he kisses, the way he fucks, the way he kills, the way he hates. And right now, that fucking look on his face, Hisoka can glimpse every goddamn curse lying beneath the vessel of a grieving man. Those very eyes, everything right there, relentless, wholehearted, merciless; it got Hisoka tingling all over, certain everything it takes was and would be worth it.

One leg of his bent and he lifted his hips, on all fours over bed, whining in some sort of delighted complaint. He'd be damned, but he could barely move without his loins feeling about to burn. That was reason for more laughter, but he choked the last ones. Illumi's tolerance, no matter previous contracts and their convergent intentions, in that specific situation, will only go so far. Right now he couldn't waste a move - it would be a disaster to let his hatred grow into enough fuel to make him burn black, everything turning to ashes. Like sweat on skin, Hisoka was risking slipping his hands too much before getting to seize, just because it feels ravenously good, and having to quit touching was just excruciating.

"Don't frown, love." The gold was a tiny halo around dilated pupils as he looked over his shoulder and gazed at Illumi; the voice, almost a hush. Pushing his own body back, he sat on his feet, sighing. "I'll behave. You call the shots.”

One more loud, puffing breath, and Hisoka's hand slid up his thigh towards his crotch. Eyelids fluttered almost close, but all that hand did was to remain steady on his groin, a grip designed to control blood flow, not to rub one off. There he remained, breathing in and out, eyelids parting open once more for a longing, though not thirsty gaze.

One could even say behaving, if it wasn't _Hisoka_.

"You know I'll do _everything_ for my fiancé."


End file.
